


Nadir

by canis_lupus



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (Mostly) Sane Loki, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, And so does the author, Artistic License, Blackarrow (Clintasha if you must), Extremis Tony Stark, F/M, Frigga Lives, FrostIron - Freeform, Infinity Gems, Loki Does What He Wants, M/M, Magic, Multi, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Open Relationships, POV Multiple, Present Tense, Wintershield (Stucky - I hate calling it that)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-01 04:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 139,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4006414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canis_lupus/pseuds/canis_lupus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>nadir: noun na·dir \ˈnā-ˌdir, ˈnā-dər\</p>
<p>"the worst or lowest point of something"</p>
<p>From which Loki will rise to take his revenge on Thanos- only he didn't quite realize that when you involve the Avengers in any sort of plan, there's bound to be unexpected detours along the way. Not to mention Tony Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Besides being started pre-Age of Ultron and therefore now thoroughly AU, I've taken generous liberties with both MCU canon and Norse mythology. So, major changes I've made to be aware of: 
> 
> Loki and Thor are almost 2000 years old, not 1000- gives them a bit more time to get up to all those crazy stunts that ended up in the Edda by the thirteenth century... 
> 
> Loki's parentage is compliant with the mythology. That means Farbauti is his father, and Lauffey is his mother. We're going to ignore that anyone during Thor 1 ever referred to the big blue King of Jotunheim as Lauffey and just imagine they called him Farbauti all along. Also, Lauffey was Aesir, making Loki only half-Jotnar (I'm told that's the correct singular of Jotun). (And his eyes are green, in case that needs mentioning.)
> 
> In other news, Frigga is alive because she is far too awesome to die, and Tony took Extremis at the end of Iron Man 3 but kept the arc reactor- I'm taking huge liberties with what Extremis does or doesn't do, but then... we get very limited information during Iron Man 3 on what it is and what it does, Marvel science makes no sense anyway, and I'm taking occasional inspiration from comic canon but don't adhere to it. 
> 
> Everything else should be explained in the course of the story, so enjoy!

Prologue

He dreams of green and gold and black. He remembers the way that pale sunlight sparked off of the armour plates and threw Jormungandr into sharp relief. He remembers the snap and swirl of heavy cloth in the wind. He remembers the scent of sweat and leather. He remembers staring into green eyes so near to his. So close. He remembers the feel of metal and hide and fabric under his hand. Right there. 

He remembers the bite of the dagger. He remembers letting go, stumbling back. 

He wakes with a gasp, with a shout. 

“Loki!”

It's still dark in the room, this small, square, cluttered room. Midgard's pale sun has not yet risen. 

Jane is asleep next to him, curled up around her pillow. Her warmth is a comfort, and yet... 

And yet, how can he rest, how can he be content in his mortal lover's arms when his brother...? 

Two thousand years, Loki has been by his side. For two thousand years, Loki's laugh has rung in his ears. For two thousand years, they have fought and feasted side by side. And, oh, they have quarrelled, like siblings will. But they have always found their way back to each other. 

Thor sits up against the headboard, runs his hand through his hair, scrubs it down his face. 

How can Loki be gone? After this hellish time, when on occasion he'd feared his brother lost forever, when he'd doubted– and then, when he had Loki _back_ , when they were standing side by side once more, when he battled _with_ Loki and not against him, as it was supposed to be– after all that, how can Loki be gone?

“Dammit, Brother,” he mutters quietly into the dark. “An honourable death? It doesn't suit you.”

It doesn't. This is _Loki_. The trickster. The snake. He of the silver tongue, of the tricks, of illusions and schemes and magic. 

And this is his hope. A hope he cannot, _will_ not let go of: That Loki is alive. That it is a feint, another trick, that Loki did what he does best and deceives. 

Maybe it is futile. Maybe it is merely his heart that will not accept this new reality in which his wild, mischievous, troublesome brother does not exist. But in the dark of night, when he is alone with his thoughts, Thor hopes.

***

Chapter 1

September 2013

“Aw, fuck!” Tony swears, shakes his hand, sticks his finger in his mouth to ease the sting. After just a moment, there's a faint feeling of warmth and the small pain fades away entirely. Tony pulls his finger out and looks at it, wriggles it. The slight red mark from the electrical burn he gave himself has disappeared. 

It's a bit freaky. He's still not used it. God knows he _needed_ it, after palladium poisoning and close-up nuclear explosions, and, yeah, maybe a drink or five too many over the years. Oh, and that's not to mention the knocks and bruises and broken bones he's taken in the last two years in his new career as a superhero. And he's not twenty-five anymore. Well. He _wasn't_. 

But he's never been one to pass up a promising opportunity due to an over-developed sense of caution. 

So, super-healing? Yeah, you bet your ass he totally went for that. 

For a moment, he considers whether he should get himself a nice new adamantium skeleton and a set of extendible claws, too, but then he also considers the tremendous pain involved in that process. And, that particular super-hero slot is already filled, after all. 

Super-hero. He's a genuine super-hero now, with his very own power, and not just a man in a can. Well. He might not be a Norse demi-god of legend, but he's at the same level as Steve now, and a good bit more fortunate than poor Bruce. At least he got to fix the wonder drug before he took it. 

He turns back to the pieces of suit strewn across his workbench. 

To stabilize Extremis, he's had to sacrifice most of the super-strength and super-speed– that's what caused the problems in the first place, putting huge amounts of energy through a system that was never built to handle that kind of load. He's taken the formula in a different direction, used it to increase conscious control of autonomic processes– the dose he programmed for himself even more so than Pepper's. That means he can use all the power human muscles are actually capable of. Extremis now allows him to consciously by-pass the autonomic inhibitors that prevent this in all but the most extreme of situations, like grandmas lifting cars, and it'll heal the resulting damage. It'll cost him, though. Tearing your ligaments off of your bones with the force of your punch, even if the healing starts right away, still fucking hurts. Tony would know– he's done it. He's also snapped his collarbone and dislocated his knee since he took Extremis. It's not fun. And if he out-paces the speed with which Extremis can heal him... Well. Ball of agony on the floor, that's what he ends up as.

So. He needs to upgrade the suit to work with a wider range of input strength-wise, and with it, speed-wise. And the next time an alien invasion comes a-knocking– ah, well, they'll be in for an ass-kicking. And if he should ever run across a certain Asgardian wanna-be deity again... No, he's not really over the whole “thrown out of his living room window” thing. Not to mention the damage to his brand-new tower. 

He rearranges his grip on the wiring he's messing around with to avoid another shock, and gets back to work. Oh, yes. Just you wait, Loki-of-fucking-Asgard. It won't be the Hulk going to town on you next time.

***

“Tony?”

Pepper's voice pulls him out of his work trance hours later. He checks the time, sighs. _Many_ hours later. He hadn't realized it was this late. 

“Down here,” he calls, even though that's completely unnecessary. She knows him, and she's already on her way down the stairs, he can hear the clicking of her heels. 

He swings his chair around as she enters the code into the keypad. 

“God, you're a life-saver,” he tells her as he stands and pulls the pizza carton out of her hands. He flips it open and greedily grabs a piece of greasy, cheesy goodness. And he doesn't even need to be concerned about his arteries anymore. 

Pepper gives him a tolerantly exasperated look. “How long have you been down here?” She casts a look at the work bench, then holds up a hand to forestall an answer he can't give through his mouthful of food. “No, wait, I don't even want to know. I've some things for you to sign, but they can wait until tomorrow. You need to get some sleep. And,” she wrinkles her nose, “a shower.”

“But...!” 

She raises an eyebrow and pulls the pizza box out of his hands. Tony capitulates with a sigh and follows her upstairs, lets her shoo him into the bathroom. If he's completely honest, the shower does feel heavenly, and he does stink. Afterwards, wrapped in a fresh, fluffy bathrobe over his favourite iron man boxer shorts, he sinks into the couch with a sigh, pulls the pizza box into his lap, and starts devouring it while it's still moderately warm. 

“What?” he mumbles through a full mouth, because Pepper is watching him. 

She opens her mouth, then sighs and shakes her head. “Nothing. I'd say I worry about you, but... you're just being you, aren't you? And this is the entire reason we're not dating anymore, after all.”

Tony swallows, wipes his mouth on a napkin, and leans over to kiss her cheek. “C'mon, Pep. New and improved me, yeah? Nothing to worry about. Better chances of surviving my own stupidity than ever before.”

She leans in to rest her head on his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around hers in return. 

“Yes, that's reassuring,” she says dryly. “Like that doesn't mean you'll just push yourself harder.”

“Honey, I'm fine. Better than fine. Brilliant, really. I mean, it's still a little freaky, being one of the chemical super-power crowd, but, hey, at least I wear it with style!”

That earns him a small laugh, and he rests his chin on top of her head. “How are you dealing, then?”

“I don't feel much like part of the chemical super-power crowd, if that's what you mean.”

“Aww,” he makes. “We could totally find a costume and a cool name for you.”

She slaps his chest just below the arc reactor. “Don't you dare.”

“Really?” He sneaks a hand around her neck to tilt her face up and kiss her cheek again, then the corner of her mouth. “Don't you want to fight evil wherever it arises and save the world?”

He feels her shudder slightly against him and she shakes her head, red ponytail sliding over her shoulder. “No. No, I definitely do not want to fight evil.”

He tightens his arm around her, hugs her. She presses close to him, small hands fisted into the lapels of his bathrobe, his lips resting against her forehead. 

“It's not for me, Tony,” she says quietly. “That's your world. And I know what you're doing is a good thing, it's a necessary thing. God, there was an alien invasion in New York. But... I can't.”

He rubs her shoulder a little, presses a soft kiss to her forehead. 

“You don't have to,” he speaks against her skin. “I was just kidding. You don't have to do anything.”

“But I have this power now,” she answers. “Shouldn't I...?”

“No,” he interrupts firmly. “You shouldn't do anything. Only what you want to do. And all you really have is the power to heal yourself, now that it's stabilized. And as my good friend Logan would tell you, that alone isn't what you want to take into a fight. Besides, you're already doing your part for the good of the world by keeping me sane.” He pulls back to grin at her. “Maybe that's your true superpower.”

She rolls her eyes at him, and that's so reassuringly normal that he just has to kiss her. 

“Tony...” she protests against his lips. He shifts, pulls his arm from her shoulders to lower her down on the couch, gives her his best smouldering bedroom look. 

“Do you want to stay the night?”

“You need sleep, not sex,” she objects, but that isn't a no. 

He waggles his eyebrows. “Why can't I have both? I'll sleep much better after sex.”

She snorts, rolls her eyes again. “You're incorrigible, you know that?”

“Hey.” He smirks. “Why mess with perfection?”

“Hardly,” she says tartly, then her face softens as she looks up at him. She raises a hand to stroke along his cheek, and he turns his head to kiss her palm. Her hand lingers, thumb stroking over his cheekbone. 

“Alright,” she agrees softly.

***

In the end, it's Pepper who drifts off soon after they're done while Tony lies awake and studies the soft slope of her shoulder in the cold light of the arc reactor. He leans forward and presses a little kiss into her hair, strokes his fingertips along her hip.

It's ironic how much easier it is to be her lover now that they're not dating anymore. 

Oh, he still loves her. And she's the woman he would marry, if he were a different sort of man. 

He's not, though, and in the aftermath of his own personal little past come back to haunt him, he's had to acknowledge that he never will be. There are some things that define him, and Iron Man is one of them, maybe the single most important one. Take away his suits, leave him stuck with a half-baked prototype full of bugs and flaws– and he'll keep right on building, tinkering, improving. Yes, he's one of 'Earth's Mightiest Heroes', and he's there to stay. 

And it's not Pepper's world. Pepper wants, and deserves, a partner who's prepared to put their relationship on at least an even footing with his career. She deserves someone who'll remember her birthday and the anniversary of their first date, someone who doesn't threaten international terrorists in a fit of vengeful pique and gets her home blown up. 

It is, she's admitted, what she wants from her boyfriend. And after the dust had settled and Tony's made sure she won't spontaneously combust, they've been forced to admit that Tony will never be that man. 

It was a painful admission. He _loves_ her. She loves him. But against all pop-culture wisdom, love doesn't fix it all. Love isn't enough when there's a fundamental gap between what they want out of the relationship and what they can give each other. Love isn't enough if they'd have to compromise so much, bend themselves out of shape so much that they'd just end up resenting each other. And Tony couldn't bear that. 

Half a year later, he's sure they made the right decision. Once the pain of saying good-bye to his dreams of happily-ever-after settled into a twinge of bitter-sweet nostalgia, he realized how relieved he feels, how much the pressure of being the boyfriend Pepper deserves has weighted on him. 

They're friends now, better friends than ever before. And, yes, they still fuck when they feel like it. The sex never was one of their problems. They're still attracted to each other, so why not?

As he settles down behind her, curves his arm more securely around her slender middle, Tony allows himself a cautious bit of happiness. It's not what he imagined, not what he expected, and maybe it'll be a mess once she starts dating other men, but for the time being... they're alright. He's alright.

***

November 2013

“Why are you still shaving?” Pepper asks him one morning in November, a few days after some seriously weird things have gone down in London and Thor and Jane have apparently saved the world and then some. Also after he's learned that Loki's reputedly died in the proceedings. Fighting at his brother's side, no less, helping. 

Tony's not sure how he feels about that. It seems... unfinished. Somehow, he's never believed that Loki'd stay in prison forever. Somehow, he's always assumed that he'd be facing him again. Now... Knowing that Loki's dead (is he? Is he really?) doesn't help with the gnawing, restless feeling in his chest, with the lurch in his stomach every time he steps up to his living room windows, with the nightmares where he's falling and falling and falling. 

And, well, he feels kind of sorry for Thor, who's stoic but clearly miserable, but if it's true... well, if it's true, Tony can't say he's not relieved.

So he's glad for Pepper's company. And he's even more glad when he stares at her, puzzled, for a moment, face half covered in foam and razor in hand, and she says: “Extremis. Why don't you just stop your hair from growing where you don't want it?”

And he realizes she's right. And he's been an _idiot_. 

“You're brilliant,” he tells her, and kisses her. She makes faces at him as she wipes shaving cream off her face, but his brain's already moved on. 

She's entirely correct. Of course he can stop his hair from growing. He's reprogrammed Extremis to give him permanent access to his own body, has taken the formula to its next logical step as far as he's concerned: He's truly hacked his body's operating system. And that means... that means, he can do what he wants. Fine, there'll be limits, but... but why's he just messing around with the healing factor? Sure, stabilizing it took out most of the super-strength and super-speed– but there's no reason why he can't _put it back in_. He can tell his hair to stop growing where he doesn't want it, he can tell his bones to increase their density, he can tell his muscles to tighten. 

He's not sure when Pepper leaves that morning. He doesn't remember eating breakfast. He takes notes upon notes, orders a stack of medical textbooks, goes over Maya's and Aldritch's research data again. They'd programmed Extremis to rebuild the body better in one fell swoop. And with that comes instability. It's too much for the system to handle, more often than not. And every time a user forces their metabolism to operate at that rate, they risk spontaneous combustion, a runaway chain reaction. 

But... but if you did it _slowly_ , over time... if you custom-built your body to handle this sort of strain... oh, the possibilities. He's been vaguely aware of this, somehow, which is why he's reprogrammed it how he has, but the scope had so far escaped him. 

Now... He grins fiercely, rubs his hands together, feeds JARVIS with data and starts running simulations. 

Oh, it'll take time. He'll have to be a little careful– he wouldn't want to mess with the software that runs some of his autonomic functions. Heart beat, say, or breathing. Probably others. He's never been too much into biology or medicine, but now... now he realizes that his body is probably the most complex machine he's ever laid eyes on, and now he has the power to improve upon it. 

He gets to work.

***

Loki settles at his mother's bedside, reaches out to cover one of her still hands with his. The healers' spell work glows overhead, strands and specks of light slowly floating and turning, like a virtual map of an imaginary galaxy. It bathes Frigga in its golden glow, lends her pale skin a healthy colour.

Loki has not many regrets in his life. He knows who he is, and who he is not. However, that one sentence, spoken in a moment of spiteful mischief, he regrets that. 

“You might want to take the stairs on the left.”

Give the palace guards something to play with, he'd thought. Give Thor something to kill. Maybe leave some imperfections on Odin's precious golden throne room. Maybe earn a favour with whatever party was responsible for this amusing little invasion. Let's see what happens, he'd thought. 

His mother was supposed to be safe. Thor and Odin were supposed to make sure of that. She wasn't supposed to get caught in the line of fire. Oh, she was a warrior and a capable witch in her own right. But she wasn't supposed to need it. She wasn't supposed to cling to the barest thread of life while he sat helpless at her bedside. 

It would be easy to blame Odin and Thor for their negligence. It would be easy to blame Thor's mortal lover for bringing the danger to their door. He has certainly blamed Malekith and his Dark Elves, and done his part in exacting revenge. Oh, that sweet feeling when he nudged that ship in the right direction as it came through the portal... Yes, he has avenged Frigga's injury. 

And the situation has turned to his advantage, has given him the opening he needed. Yet... he wishes the price was another. 

He bends to kiss his mother's cheek. 

“Do not worry,” he whispers, so quietly not even Heimdall, not even Odin in his sleep, will hear. “I shall take care of everything. Rest.”

Loki knows who he is. He knows, again, better than ever before.

He is himself again, more than he has been since he touched the Casket. 

Ah, arrogance. It is a particular failing of his, he knows. It is hardly a unique failing, but he had thought himself aware of its pitfalls. 

When he touched the Casket of Ancient Winters, it broke open something within him. As its old, old power surged through him, it not only cracked the Aesir form he'd worn ever since he could remember, it also opened his mind to the pathways of power running through the universe in an entirely new way. And under the guise of that new power, while he was distracted and overwhelmed, something else wormed its way into his thoughts, so subtly. It was clever, it was. It did not plant anything that was not there before. No, no, not at all. It worked with what it found, much as Loki did. It exploited his weaknesses, amplified his envy of Thor, the feelings of jealousy and inferiority he had thought long conquered, amplified his shock at learning of his true parentage, his longing for recognition, his thirst for power. It plucked and pulled those chords in his mind, nudged and twisted, until his own fury consumed him, his own emotions ruled him at the expense of self-preservation and cunning and careful planning. Until he thought it was a good idea to let go of that spear, throw himself into the abyss of space just to spite his lying, false family who would not appreciate him as he deserved– until he threw himself into Thanos' grasp. 

Loki takes a deep breath, suppresses a shudder. 

He had realized, in the moment when Thanos' fetters sank into his mind, what a mistake he made. He, Loki, played. He, chained to Thanos' thoughts like his son was by Gleipnir. He, selected as a tool. 

Thanos had laughed at his impotent rage. 

So Loki bowed to necessity. And it was not all bad, really. The power of the Sceptre was sweet, and he has learned a lot. 

And he has escaped. Thanos' hold on him is broken, and Loki is removed from the playing field. He is out of sight, and Thanos is not looking for him. 

Loki smiles, faintly, in triumph. In the end, it is his plan that has worked, and Thanos' that has failed. In the end, it looked like he tried his hardest, and lost. In the end, he looked like a broken tool, unworthy of the effort to remove him from his prison, to show a hand prematurely and challenge the might of Asgard unnecessarily. In the end, he got exactly what he needed: time, and access to his books. 

He suppresses the urge to laugh, wild and free. Oh, how they thought they were punishing him! How they thought he were sulking at being locked up like a misbehaving child!

Ah, yes. In the end, he did the research he needed, unbeknownst to anyone, and, when the opportunity presented itself, broke his chains and vanished– died. And in the bargain, a throne. 

Oh, he had no longer the crazed desire he'd had under the Casket, had faked to on Midgard. Still, it is nice all the same. Power suits him. Much better to rule from behind a mask, though, than to openly invite the suspicion of anyone who knows him. And, really, he thinks with a grin, who can blame them? Fools, they would be, if they could accept him on the throne without discomfort. 

As for Thanos... Loki feels a pleasant, vicious twist in his heart. Thanos will learn that he picked the wrong tool. Loki knows who he is. He is Loki of Asgard, Loki Laufeyson, Loki, Father to Fenrir and Jormungandr, the Mischief-Maker, the Sly God, the Origin of Deceit. And Thanos will learn the wrath of Loki.

***


	2. Chapter 2

Early April 2014

He's got no idea who he is anymore, he muses as he raises the bottle for another deep draw. The bar is a dingy hole in the wall, the stale ghost of decades of cigarette smoke oozing out of the yellowed walls to mingle with the tang of spilled liquor, piss and puke. The whiskey in his bottle is cheap and tastes hardly better. The bar has three exits, if you take the filthy window into account, and it would take him three minutes to kill everyone in it. He hasn't decided yet whether he'd start with the bartender, who keeps a shotgun under the bar but is portly and in his fifties, or the biker two tables over, who merely has a couple of knives on him but is in his early thirties and nothing but highly functional muscle. Pretty fresh out of prison, too. Yeah, probably the biker. 

No, he doesn't know who he is anymore. Not Sergeant Bucky Barnes of the Howling Commandos. 

He remembers, now, being Bucky Barnes. He remembers being young and handsome and confident. He remembers being whole. He remembers being innocent. 

The war stripped much of that innocence, like it did with all of them. It made him harder, colder. Still. He was a competent fighter, an expert marksman, and he remembers being proud of it. He remembers knowing his place, his purpose. He remembers his comrades, the ones he lost and the ones who lived longer than he did, anyway, he remembers drinking and laughing. He remembers the many pretty women he danced with, made love to, and the few men he snuck off with, too. 

He remembers, but it's all so far away. 

In between, there's the cold. 

He knows it's seventy years, near enough, but it's odd and disjointed. He can't tell for how many of those he was awake. Was it five, was it ten? More? Less? He doesn't know. Those years are training and fighting and killing. 

Maybe the oddest thing is that he remembers not remembering. He remembers what it's like to know nothing of himself but his mission, his parameters, his skills. No fear, no doubt, only mild interest in the world around him. And he knew who he was, back then. 

Now... how do you re-unite the proud soldier and the unquestioning assassin? 

His fingers tighten around the bottle and he takes another swig. Not that it helps. He can't really get drunk anymore. Whatever Zola and his cronies did to him, he'd have to force down the entire bottle fast as he can to feel a little tipsy for a half-hour or so. 

At the rate he's going, it only gives him an increasingly painful need to piss. He'll give up on it in a little while. 

He remembers Zola, too, remembers the operation, remembers the wipes whenever he started to question. They're not good memories. 

He almost snorts into his whiskey. As if any of the memories since he fell off that train are good. Some of them are just more unpleasant than others. 

The biker with the knives gets up and leaves. On his way out, their eyes meet for a moment. He has no idea what's on his face but the biker very deliberately makes sure to keep a fair distance between them as he heads out the door. It's almost cute. He could cross that distance in a fraction of a second. 

He takes a deep breath, another swig of disgusting alcohol. No, he doesn't know who he is anymore. 

He does know what he is: A killing machine. 

He glances at his arm. Yes, machine is an apt description, isn't it? He flexes his metal fingers, feels something catch and grind deep within. And this machine is broken.

***

He eventually abandons the rest of his bottle and walks into the alley around the corner to piss behind a dumpster rather than brave the bathroom in that bar. From the smell, he's probably not the first.

He walks out of the alley, baseball cap deep in his face, hoodie up, crosses the street, cuts through another alley, and stares up at the building across the plaza. 

He remembers Howard, and all intel suggests his son's at least as capable. 

He follows the edge of the plaza, makes sure to stay out of sight of the cute blonde waitress who's flirted with him on more than one occasion that he's used her café to surveil Stark Tower. He's seen her flirt with Steve, too. 

The thought is an odd little stab of pain and nostalgia and something he's almost tempted to call fond amusement, if he thought he were still capable of such an emotion. 

He knows Steve's looking for him. Good, kind, stubborn Steve. He has no illusions that Steve'll give up, that he can avoid a confrontation forever. But he can delay, and he sees no reason why he shouldn't. 

He doesn't know who he is anymore, but he's certainly not the man Steve knew, so long ago.

Maybe it'd be easier if they weren't both here, now. Across seventy years, they're still both here. It's... painful.

***

He picks Stark's car up as it leaves the garage. There's some gala or other across town, red carpet and all, and it seems he's speculated correctly that Stark'll be taking a more mundane means of transport rather than donning one of his suits. It can go either way with him, really, but he still usually uses a car for these kinds of things.

He follows them at a reasonable distance on a bike, until they hit the expected down-town traffic jam. He winds his way through the idling cars until he's next to Stark's limousine, then knocks on a tinted window. He assumes there's a few traffic cameras pointed his way somewhere, but it's still better than approaching Stark at a more public venue or trying to find his way into that high-tech fortress of a tower. He could, of course, and maybe one day he will just to prove the point to himself, but he's got more practical concerns in mind, now. 

He gives a quick scan around as he waits for Stark to open the window. Four escape routes that he can see, all with plenty of opportunities to shake any pursuit before he even comes near his current safe-house. 

The window rolls down, and he flips the visor on his helmet up. Stark's eyebrows rise over the rims of his sunglasses before he pulls them down his nose to study him with open curiosity. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” he greets. “Well, this is a surprise. People've been looking for you.” There's no judgement in Stark's voice. 

He shrugs. “I'm aware.”

Stark's lips pull into a bit of a smirk. “Well, if you don't wanna be found, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“I need your help,” he tells him. “With a technical problem.” He tilts his head towards his left arm, and Stark's eyes light up with something that could almost be called greed. 

“I see. Happy to help. Very happy. I'm a very helpful man, after all.”

He's almost startled when a chuckle escapes him, because Stark... Stark isn't even trying to be subtle, and the slant of his grin is an invitation to share the joke. God, he can't even remember the last time he laughed. 

“So, I've gotta go to this thing right now, and I suppose you're averse to using the front door.” He reaches into the breast of his suit jacket, pulls out a business card and then a fountain pen from somewhere. “Tell you what.” He opens the pen, cap stuck between his teeth, scribbles on the back of the card, then extends it, closes the pen. “Gimme a call when I'm back and I'll let you in the back way. Shouldn't be much longer than midnight or so.”

He takes the card, glances at the phone number at the back of it for a moment, tucks it into a pocket of his leather jacket. He nods at Stark, who grins and gives him a thumbs-up, closes his visor, and swings the bike around to take off down a nearby alley. 

Well. That was easier than he'd expected. And he hadn't even shot Stark when the man'd reached into his suit with no warning like that.

***

That is how he finds himself in Tony Stark's workshop in the early hours of Sunday morning. It's comfortably cluttered, much more lived in than the clean modernity of the living area they've crossed to get here. Clearly, this is the true centre of Stark's home. The man himself has ditched his suit for a t-shirt and jeans. He's waved him to take a seat at the work table, mechanical arm propped up, then commanded his AI to perform a scan. He's now expertly manipulating a three-dimensional, blue-glowing hologram with narrowed eyes and a steep crease between his eyebrows. It's rather impressive technology. Also, it's certainly nice not to have someone new to it randomly poke around in his arm. It can be... uncomfortable.

He studies Stark while the man's absorbed in his own observations. He hasn't met Howard Stark often, but he does recognize the resemblance in the narrow features, the shade of the dark hair. There's the same intensity in this man as in his father, but where Howard was certainly wild and independent, this man moves with more purpose, carries himself with more grace. Howard was an adventurer. His son is a fighter. It's in the way his shoulders fill that t-shirt in a way his father's never filled a suit, in the way his eyes scanned him for weapons down in the garage. It's, maybe, in the way he gestured him to the private elevator despite noting some of the small arsenal he's carrying. 

“I hate to admit it,” Stark says, “but this is brilliant work. Hard to believe Hydra came up with this– and fifty years ago, too.”

“It's been upgraded over the years,” he admits. 

Stark gives a thoughtful hum. “Still. Full neural integration, is it?”

He nods.

“Pretty amazing stuff. What's it feel like? These sensors look a little thin on the ground...”

“It was deemed disadvantageous for me to have anything mimicking pain receptors in there,” he tells him dryly. “As for what it feels like... A little... remote, maybe. It's hard to describe. Like it's half-asleep, only not.”

Stark makes another one of those thoughtful hums. “Just pressure sensory input, though, right? That and proprioception. Amazing that they managed to mimic that, really, but helps with not hitting it against things when you're not looking at it, I guess.” Stark flicks through bits and pieces of the hologram, puts the shell to one side, the internal structural pieces above it, the wiring to the other side, keeps a map of the sensors in front of him. 

“No temperature sensors, though. And barely five percent coverage on most of the surface, except your hand, it's up to thirty percent there.”

“Necessary for fine motor control.” He doesn't have to say what he needs the fine motor control for. 

Stark only nods, then points to a section of plating at the back of the hologram shell, above the elbow. “There's some minor warping here. Nothing too serious, by itself, but it's allowed particles inside, which is what's causing your problems. If you'll allow me to open you up and clean you out you'll be good as new.”

He gives Stark a look for the way that sounds, but motions towards his arm. It's the entire reason he's here for, after all. 

He soon has Stark poking and prodding around in there, tools stuck between his teeth, and he has no doubt that Stark's AI is recording and measuring everything he can get his hands on. But Stark is also being far more gentle and careful in avoiding his artificial nerve pathways than any previous scientist ever has been, and he's intent on his work with an enthusiastic focus that is damn near adorable. 

“How's that?” Stark asks after a good long while of silent work, and he flexes his fingers, turns his wrist. Everything moves smoothly, silently. 

“Much better.”

Stark gives a nod. “JARVIS, give me another scan while I fix this plating, just to make sure we didn't miss anything.” He then unhooks the two blades that apparently have become warped. “And give me a hologram on what these two should look like.”

When Stark sets the two sections inside their holograms, he can see where they deviate from the smooth curve they're supposed to follow. It's not a lot, but yes, it is enough to prevent them closing properly. 

Stark rises, grabs a pair of goggles and the plates, and moves over into a corner that holds, of all things, an anvil and hammers of varying sizes. The holograms follow him when he crooks a finger at them like obedient puppies. He fires up some kind of gas fire and proceeds to heat the first piece of plating until it glows a dull yellow colour. Tongs in one hand, carefully chosen tool in the other, he then confidently hammers it back into shape, frequently checking it against its hologram. 

It's somewhat uncomfortable, sitting with his arm open and partially exposed. It feels... vulnerable. But watching Stark work has its own fascination. He wouldn't have pegged Stark as a smith, but it suits him oddly well. 

It's strange, how little he worries that Stark'll betray him. He could kill him, of course. Probably. It'd take Stark a moment to get into his armour, and a moment is all he needs. Then again... this is Stark's base of operations, in New York at least. He would be very surprised if there aren't automatic defences in place. 

Stark gives himself unconcerned, like it doesn't even occur to him that he's in arm's reach of a trained and proven assassin. It's... refreshing. Reassuring, even. Intel suggests Stark's stubborn and independent, and with anything but a clean past. Drugs, drink, scandals... it's not hard to find. Neither is his former occupation, his former nick name: Merchant of Death. While he might not have spilled blood with his own hands, Stark has certainly enabled the death of far more people than _he_ has. Then again... an unfair comparison. Who knows what ripples spread out from the assassinations he's conducted? Who knows how much instability, how much war, how much death, has resulted from his actions? He doesn't. He never will. It's in the past, and it can't be unmade. Just as Stark's sins can't be unmade. Maybe that's why he feels an odd amount of trust for the man: a certain similarity in their backgrounds. Of course, Stark has re-made himself a hero. 

A hero, yes– but not a figure head. That much is clear from the way he has clashed, quite publicly, both with the government and S.H.I.E.L.D. Yes, he is an independent sort, with a history of getting exactly what he wants. And what he wants, right now, is a look at the technology of the arm. A fair exchange, then: the knowledge for his help. And there is no reason to believe Stark would feel obliged to turn him in. 

Stark returns with the finished plating, and fits it in expertly, as if he's done this a dozen times before, calls up the new scan. It comes up clean, and Stark closes the arm up with equal confidence. 

“There. What d'you say?”

He lifts it, flexes it, turns it, locks and unlocks the plating. It all works perfectly, and he tells Stark as much, thanks him. 

Stark smirks, waves it off. “Anytime. You're not gonna ask me to delete those scans, are you?”

Again, Stark pulls a facial expression out of him that sits oddly, unfamiliar, on his face: a small grin.

“No. Keep them. Just don't pass them on to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Stark snorts. “Hardly. Besides, they're not exactly operating at full capacity at the moment. So, I'm thinking...” Stark trails off, and he raises an eyebrow in curiosity. “You want me to look into some upgrades? Extend your range of sense, maybe add some temperature receptors?”

For a moment, he stares at the man, whose eyes are dark and neutral and sincere. (Brown eyes– easier to lie with brown eyes, hides pupil dilation better.) He's not sure... 

“I'll think about it,” he says, because that's really all he can say. 

Stark just shrugs, nods. “Sure. You've got my number. Gimme a call anytime.” 

He nods, rises. “Thanks, again.”

“You're welcome.”

He's almost at the stairs when Stark calls after him. 

“Sergeant Barnes.”

He looks over his shoulder at Stark, who's leaning back against the work table on his elbows. 

“You want me to pass on a message for you?”

There's no need to specify who that message would be for. It's tempting, for a moment, but he shakes his head. 

“I'd prefer if you kept this between the two of us.”

“Sure thing, Sarge,” Stark agrees easily, and doesn't attempt to stop him again.

***

“My King!”

Loki pulls his attention from the secrets Munin is whispering into his ear with an effort to focus on the young palace guard. He's one of the new recruits after the decimation Malekith wrought among their numbers, and eager to please. 

“Yes?” This man would not interrupt the All-Father against his express wishes if it were not important. 

“My Lord, the healers request your presence. All signs indicate that the Queen will regain consciousness shortly.”

Loki rises immediately, Munin taking to the air with a squawk to join Hugin in the rafters. He nods his thanks at the young Einherjar as he strides past, out of the throne room, headed for his mother's sick room. He feels a small flutter in his stomach and tightens his grip on Gungnir. There are not many people in the universe whose opinion he cares for, but his mother is first among them.

The healers' spell galaxies are pulsing and circling visibly faster than the last time he was here, he sees as he enters. 

The head healer steps up to him, inclines her head a fraction. Even the All-Father does not rate more from a woman of her station. 

“My King. The spells indicate that the Queen will wake soon. Her injuries have healed well. She will be in need of bed rest for a few more days to regain her strength, but we are pleased to announce that we expect a full recovery within the week.”

Loki closes his eyes for a moment in relief, allows himself to show this even in his disguise. Gruff as he is, the King's love for his wife is well known.

He takes a seat at his mother's bedside, takes one of her limp hands into his, like he has done many times during these last months. He hopes this is the last such time. 

It is a long half-hour during which he sits quietly while the healers flutter around them, adjusting this, measuring that, adding a little spell here and there to ease her wakening, stimulate her body's recovery. 

Finally, her eyelids flutter, then open slowly. She glances around, at the spell work over her, the healers surrounding the bed, and then, finally, him. 

“My love,” she whispers weakly, and he squeezes her hand, then looks at the head healer. 

“All parameters are within expected margins, my King,” the healer informs him, then turns towards Frigga. “We expect you to make a full recovery shortly, my Queen.”

“What has happened?” Frigga demands, voice still weak but ringing with command. “Where are my sons?”

Something flickers across the healer's face and hushed silence spreads through the room. 

Loki squeezes her hand again, then stands and turns. “Leave us,” he orders. He waits until the room is empty, until the last apprentice healer has shuffled out with their arms full of paper. 

“My heart,” Frigga starts, but he lifts a hand to ask for her silence, then closes his eyes, soundlessly mouths the syllables, weaves his fingers into the pattern of the spells. The wards lift around him, subtle and strong and clever, to shield them from Heimdall's eyes and ears, from any force in the universe that might try to spy on them, and leaves an illusion of Odin and his mother in their place. It is some of Loki's finest work, and he thinks it might even be enough to fool the All-Father's mind wandering in the Odin-sleep. 

Frigga is watching him with a keen glare when he opens his eyes again, because she knows this is not Odin's spell-work. He shifts into his own form quickly, as he has not done for many months now, lest she decides to shred his delicate thread-work of spells, and all his careful plans with them, and does herself harm so soon after awakening. 

Her eyes widen, and she holds out her hand to him. He falls to his knees beside her bed, clasps her hand in both of his. She can tell, of course, that something is afoot if he wears the All-Father's form, and takes such care not to be spied upon. 

“Mother,” he says, and hears the tremble in his voice. So weak, he is, for her. 

Her fingers tighten in his in acknowledgement. “Loki, my son. Tell me.”

He takes a deep breath, bows his head. He is not in the habit of doing this, and would not do it for many beings in the universe– maybe for none other than her.

“First, Mother, I must beg your forgiveness, for my part in your injury.”

“What part was that, Loki?” she asks sharply. 

He forces himself to lift his head and meet her gaze. For no matter what others may whisper behind his back, he is no coward. “It was I who directed the Kursed towards the stairs that would take him so deep into the palace, so quickly. I am never much for foolish regret or undue guilt over the unintended consequences of my actions, but this one, I would undo if I could.”

Her face softens. “Oh, Loki,” she sighs. “You are forever a child of Chaos, are you not? Very well. I shall forgive you, for I know you do not ask for it lightly, and I have always loved you for and despite your nature. You are forgiven, Son.”

He bows his head again, squeezes her hand, presses a kiss to it. She frees her fingers from his and lifts her arm to rest them lightly on the crown of his head, a blessing. 

“Now. What has happened? Where is your brother? Where is your father... Odin?”

And he loves her just a little more for the way she corrects herself. He lifts his head, brushes a strand of hair out of his face, then crosses his arms on the edge of the bed, stays sitting on the floor so they're face to face. 

“Odin has fallen into the Odin-sleep and shows no sign of waking. As you lay unconscious, this left Asgard dangerously weak in a time when we can scarcely afford to be perceived as such. Therefore, I took on the All-Father's guise. Thor I have sent to Midgard. If Asgard is under threat, then Midgard is even more so, and it is far less protected. Additionally, my brother is far too distracted by his mortal lover to give matters of state the attention they deserve.”

“Kindness wrapped in scorn, my son?” his mother asks, a laugh hovering under the words. Loki chooses not to answer, and a smile flickers over Frigga's face. 

“Now, what are these threats you speak of, my son?”

So Loki settles in more comfortably against the bed and informs her of what has transpired during her illness, and what has gone before, what has led them to this point, and also what he seeks to do about it all. The sun moves across the sky as he speaks, but his mother declines his offer to break for refreshments, denies that she needs to rest until he has finished his tale. Only then does she allow him to shift back into her husband's shape and dismantle the wards, call for the healers and food. He takes his meal with her, then leaves her to rest under the healers' watchful care. 

His step is much lighter than before.

***


	3. Chapter 3

The news of the Queen's wakening spreads quickly through the court, and lifts spirits over-all. He has the Master of Ceremony prepare a generous banquet in celebration, then spends the rest of the day on matters of Asgard's military defence and the attending concerns of finance. 

He has that to say for the All-Father: He is a good king. The populace is wealthy and content, the royal coffers full, the Asgardian defences in fine shape. The walls are as strong as ever, the wards humming with power, the guard force well-trained. He has refilled the ranks after Malekith's invasion, has used the opportunity to increase them gradually by half as many troops again. The pegasi herds are breeding, and so are the horses, with a fresh infusion of Sleipnir's blood. The sorcerers are working on new defences, have already counteracted the cloaking Malekith used, and are busy mining the wrecked remains of Malekith's ships Loki had retrieved from Svartalfheim and the various locations around Asgard where they had been shot down. 

Loki only wishes that he could be confident that any of it will make a difference in the wars to come. Unfortunately, he's certain that it will take more than conventional means of warfare. Thankfully, he has _plans_. 

He only spends a few hours at the banquet, then leaves his people to their revelry and returns to Frigga's bedside. She is asleep, and he settles into a chair to wait for her to wake again while he turns his mind back to the whispers Hugin and Munin are bringing to his ears from the Nine Realms and beyond.

***

“Speak with your brother,” his mother advises sternly several hours later, when she has woken and they are discussing strategy.

Loki sighs. “I am unconvinced of my welcome.”

Frigga reaches out and lays a hand over his. “He is your brother. He loves you. And he has grown much in a short time, maybe more than you are aware of. He will understand. He will help.”

Loki grimaces. 

His mother raises one perfect, queenly eyebrow at him chidingly. “Independence is a valuable trait. Being too proud to ask for assistance when you require it is not.”

Loki bows his head. It is only his mother that can still make him feel like a child with a single look. 

“Loki.” He looks up at her again, to find her eyes soft and worried. “You can not do this by yourself. And for once in your life, _ask for help_. This quest is too large for games and manipulations. You need comrades by your side who are able to act independently, are able to invest their full potential, comrades who are committed in full knowledge of the stakes. This undertaking is too important to risk their falling into your back should they figure out the strings you are pulling.”

He pulls a face. “You bid me act against my nature. The thought is... uncomfortable.”

“You are not such an incorrigible liar as you portray yourself to be, Son,” Frigga tells him dryly. “I have seen you grow into the man you are these past two thousand years. And while mischief has always been part of your nature, the deceiver and manipulator is an image you have carefully crafted. You prefer to keep your hand hidden by mixing lies and truths in such a way that your audience is hard pressed to tell one from the other, but you are as capable of being truthful as any creature. And has it not been your capacity for loyalty which has hurt you so, which has led us all down this road?”

“You see me far too well,” Loki replies with a smile that feels twisted on his face, but Frigga shakes her head. 

“Not well enough, it appears.” Her eyes are sorrowful. “Else I would have recognized the depth of your pain, and the unnaturalness of it.”

This time, the smile feels kinder on his face. “You have always admonished me to stand vigilant over the sanctity of my mind. That my defences were insufficient is my failing, not yours.”

“As your mother, I will always regret failing you in your hour of need. No sweet words of yours will change this, my son.”

“If that is so, all that remains for me is to thank you for your continued belief in me, and your advice.” He rises, and leans over to kiss her cheek. “Despite my recent actions, I do love you, Mother.”

“You have asked for my forgiveness and I have granted it. We need not speak of it further. And I have never doubted your love, Loki, just as I hope you will never doubt mine.”

For a moment, he rests his head on her delicate shoulder. He has always been his mother's son more than Odin's, has always admired her strength and subtlety. While vengeance spurs him on, her safety and approval adds a sweeter motivation to his quest. For her, he vows to do better, be better. 

“Will you speak with Thor?” she asks when he draws back to shift once more into Odin's form, and he nods. 

“I will call for him. I assume you wish to see him in any case.”

Frigga rewards him with a smile that makes the prospect far more palatable.

***

Tony's deep in his scans of Barnes' arm when JARVIS interrupts him.

“Sir. Captain Rogers is on the phone.”

Tony shakes himself out of his engineering head-space (what is that thing made out of? This alloy is amazing. He _wants it_ ) and waves for JARVIS to throw up a holo screen and put the call through. 

“Hey, Cap. What's up?”

The only thing he can tell from the background is that it's a concrete wall, industrial grey. Steve looks exhausted, but otherwise fine. The cut he'd had through his eyebrow at his last check-in a few days ago is already gone without a trace. Tony feels a little smug that these days, he could do that, too. 

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know that it doesn't seem like he's in the Czech Republic, but we got some intel about a potential Hydra contact in Belarus, so we'll be moving on.”

“'Kay. You need anything? Still good on funds?”

Steve snorts. “Tony, you gave us _two million dollars_. Of course we're still good. And I still intend to give most of it back to you.”

Tony waves a hand. “Yeah, whatever. Seriously, don't sweat it. You do know I'm obscenely rich, right? As far as I'm concerned, you're doing a public service, keeping Hydra on their toes.”

“Yes, well. I just wish I didn't feel like I'm chasing a ghost.”

Tony makes a sympathetic noise and squashes the urge to wince. He's promised, after all. 

“He's very good at not being found if he doesn't want to,” he says instead. 

“If he even survived,” Steve says glumly. “Maybe I just imagined that he dragged me out of the river.”

“We didn't find a body,” Tony points out. “And there were those foot prints at the bank. Call it a hunch, but he's alive. After everything he's been through, a little helicarrier crash won't have killed him.”

“It's just...” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Sometimes I think it was all a dream. I mean... how can Bucky be alive?”

“He's alive, Cap. Trust me, that traffic cam footage doesn't lie.”

Steve smiles a little, crooked. “Thanks, Tony. I appreciate your help with this. I'll keep you updated.”

“Sure thing, Cap. Just call if you need anything, whether it's my genius or my money or some back-up of the Iron Man kind, yeah?”

Steve chuckles. “Will do. Rogers out.” 

The call terminates, and Tony leans back in his chair with a sigh. It sucks to be aware that Barnes is here in New York while Steve's on a wild goose chase on the other side of the world. Oh, well. Maybe Barnes'll take him up on that offer of the sensors for his arm. Maybe Tony can establish some trust, convince him to talk to Steve. Or at least keep an eye on him a little.

***

“Hey.” Jane steps out onto her tiny balcony and rests a hand on Thor's back. He turns his head from his contemplation of the London roof scape and gives her one of his sweet smiles. Even five months of daily exposure to his all-around gorgeousness have done nothing to dampen the flutter in her stomach. If anything, getting to know him on a day-to-day basis leaves her more smitten with him as she learns more about him beyond good looks and world-saving heroics.

“Breakfast's ready,” she tells him quietly, as she leans into his side. He wraps an arm around her, hugs her close as a gust of April wind full of moist chill sweeps past them, leaves tiny droplets of water in their hair. 

“Thank you,” he answers just as quietly, but doesn't move to step inside. 

“Are you thinking about him?” she asks. It's not like she misses how he still wakes up in the middle of the night, like she can't guess why Thor's been subdued and melancholy ever since he's returned. 

“My apologies,” he says. “I do understand that you do not hold him in the highest of esteem.”

Jane sighs, leans a bit more solidly into his side. “He was your brother. Of course I understand that you miss him. And... he saved my life, that day. He helped. I mean, I know what he did in New York, but the only time I actually met him, he didn't seem like such a bad guy.”

Thor smiles wistfully. “He has never been easy, Loki.”

They stand for a while longer, looking across the jumble of roofs under a pale grey sky, the noises of the city rising around them, voices and cars, the low thump of music from an apartment further down, a siren somewhere in the distance. When the faint mist firms into something more like a drizzle, Jane nudges Thor. 

“C'mon. Breakfast's getting cold, and so am I.”

Thor's halfway through his second helping of bacon and eggs while Jane is mopping up the last of her beans with a crust of toast when there's a deep, vibrating hum and a bright flash of light outside the windows. They share a look across their little table, then move back to the balcony. 

A familiar smell of ozone hangs heavy in the air as Jane leans over the railing. And, yes, there's the labyrinthine mark of the Bifrost sizzling on the tarmac of the parking lot, and a lone figure standing in its centre. Armour hugging her curves, sword at her hip, black hair pulled back into a braid, Sif of Asgard stands in front of their apartment building.

Heads are poking out of windows and over the balconies like they are all around. 

“My Lady Sif,” Thor calls down and Sif turns to face them. 

“Thor Odinson,” Sif calls back, and yeah, this is so going to be in the papers. Scratch that, Jane can see three cell phones already, filming. This'll be on youtube the minute they are done. “Your father bids you return to Asgard. Your mother has awakened and wishes to see her son.”

Thor's eyes widen, and he turns to Jane. 

“Go,” she tells him even before the full force of the blue puppy-dog eyes has hit her. 

He clasps her hand in his. “I will return soon. This I vow.”

“See that you do.” She leans up to peck him on the lips, but he pulls her in tight and kisses her deeply. She remembers the cameras only after he sets her back on her feet. But he's smiling that bright, crooked smile of his, and what the hell. 

And then he jumps off the balcony. 

Well, of course he does. 

Mjolnir zips past her when he's halfway down and by the time he hits the ground he's in armour, red cape around his shoulders, jeans and t-shirt vanished to who knows where. 

Jane's still not quite sure how magic is suddenly a thing in her life, and how she's ended up with a boyfriend who can do some sort of Power Rangers style transformation into a super hero. 

Thor strides up to Sif to stand in the Bifrost stamp, and turns his face towards the sky.

“Heimdall! I am ready!”

The whoosh, the bright light, and then the parking lot is empty again, the Bifrost sign steaming gently in the rain that is starting to fall in earnest. 

Jane shrugs at her gaping neighbour one balcony over, and heads back inside. 

Five minutes later, her phone rings.

“So, Thor's back in Asgard?” Tony Stark asks when she answers.

***

Loki paces in one of the smaller audience chambers Odin uses to conduct business that requires a more intimate setting than the throne room. There's still a throne here, on a small dais, but there's also a table with a dozen chairs, and he's had the servants bring a carafe of wine and two cups. He's already woven the wards around the room to ensure privacy, and now all he can do is wait for Thor.

He's welcomed him earlier, as Odin, and sent him along to pay his respects to Frigga. Once they have concluded their business, Frigga will send Thor here, for Loki to gain his brother's support for their venture. 

Loki admits to himself that he is far more apprehensive about his brother's reaction than is comfortable. It appears Thor's opinion still matters a good deal to him. It's _Thor_. His brother. They have been nigh inseparable for two millenia, and Loki... _misses_ him. Now that he has eradicated the last traces of Thanos' urgings from his mind, he can see more clearly than ever how much Thor is a part of him. Has he at times resented standing in the shadow of Thor's glory, Thor's boastful prowess and golden popularity? Why yes, he has. But it has been _his_ place, the place he has always known himself to be welcome in, no matter what mischief he has done, what prank he has wrought, no matter how wrong they have sometimes gone, no matter what names he has called Thor in a fit of pique. Oh, they've fought, with words and fists and weapons. They've shaken the palace with their tempers, and Loki has lied to and tricked Thor more than once, sometimes in retaliation, sometimes just because, and Thor has subjected him to his ire plenty of times. He has a way of charming people that makes them forget, but Thor can be vicious in word and deed just as much as Loki can. In this, they are very much brothers. 

But always, always, they have found their way back to each other, have ended their spat able to laugh about it together. And certainly, he is his brother's shadow– always at his side, always watching his back. 

Should he be denied that return this time, Loki admits that he's uncertain how he would cope. He is far warier about the extends of his own sanity than he was a few years ago. 

He hears footsteps approaching the door outside, and he would recognize that stride anywhere. He straightens up, smooths out his borrowed face. The opening door disrupts the wards as Thor enters. Loki sweeps his eyes over his brother, and yes, he confirms his first impression from earlier in the day: Thor looks good. He carries himself with a calm, a maturity that Loki is not used to.

“Father.” He sweeps Loki a deep bow. “You wished to see me?”

The guard outside pulls the door closed, and the wards weave shut again. Thor blinks, glances around at the walls with a frown. He's no sorcerer, certainly, but he's aware enough of the magical energies around him to tell that these wards are far from ordinary. Thor's eyes return to him and Loki lets go of his disguise. 

It's a good thing Loki is the man he is. A softer heart might've broken at the look on Thor's face. 

“Brother...” he breathes, blue eyes wide. He reaches out with one hand, but only half-way, like he doesn't dare complete the gesture, like he couldn't bear it to be disappointed. 

“Brother,” Loki acknowledges with a smirk, and strolls down the stairs, makes those few steps as casual as he possibly can. 

And then Thor makes a guttural noise in his throat, launches himself across the remaining distance between them, throws himself at Loki with such abandon Loki's knees almost buckle, and his arms wrap around Loki. 

Loki makes an undignified, and involuntary, 'oof' noise, but well... when the Mighty Thor hugs you with all his strength... lesser creatures probably wouldn't survive the experience. 

“Loki...” he says, voice raw, blond head resting on Loki's shoulder, and damn him, and Loki for being the man he is, because it would take a much harder heart to be unmoved by this display. So Loki raises his own arms, awkwardly as they're trapped by Thor's iron grip on him, and rests his hands in the small of Thor's back, hugs him in return as well as he can. 

Thor pulls back before Loki has to beg for air, cups his hands around Loki's face, stares at him searchingly. 

“It is you, is it not? This is no trickery?”

“If it were, Brother, I would hardly admit to it, now would I?” Loki advices him scathingly. 

Thor's face breaks out into a wide grin. “Oh, it is so good to see you. I had hoped...” Ah, not a complete idiot, then. And then Thor proves once more that he is at his deadliest when he is sincere. “Welcome home, Loki,” he says warmly, and, oh, that Loki's heart were ice.

“It is good to be home,” he admits, and that is the problem with Thor: he _believes_ him when Loki's being honest. 

Thor hugs him once more, briefly, then narrows his eyes. “Where is Father, then?”

Loki rolls his eyes at him, a little. “I promise I have done him no harm. He has fallen into the Odin-sleep. I will hand back the throne to Mother before the week is out.”

“I did not think...” Thor protests, all wide blue eyes, and Loki gives him a sharply raised eyebrow. 

“Well.” Thor grins sheepishly. “Maybe for a moment. Can you fault me?”

“I can not,” Loki admits. “Come. Sit, and I will tell you everything. Wine?”

Thor sits, and accepts the cup of wine Loki pours him. “Everything?” he asks, with a teasing grin. “Why, Brother, that is quite unlike you.”

Loki scowls a bit. “Mother seemed to think it best.” And as he had hoped, his display of childish petulance makes Thor laugh out loud. He can not help the way his heart expands with warmth. He is indeed home. Thor would not laugh with him if he were not willing to forgive him.

***

“It was not you, then?” Thor asks, blue eyes almost painfully hopeful. “The Destroyer? Jotunnheim?”

Loki sighs. It would be easy to confirm this, allow Thor to ascribe all his actions to some foreign entity acting through him. However... his mother is correct. He can't chance this undertaking on one convenient lie betraying him at an inopportune moment. And... he wishes this peace with Thor to last. So he says: “It is not quite that easy, Brother. I like to believe that I would have noticed had something forced me to act against my will. No. I took no action that was not born in my own thoughts, did not feel an emotion that was not in my heart. 

However, they were... amplified. Exaggerated. Certainly, I can not conceive of a situation where I would have reacted well to the revelations of Odin's lies after all this time. Certainly, I have felt anger and envy towards you at times– you know this. I was hardly ever subtle in that regard. And it appears that, despite my anger, I still wished to prove my worth to you and Odin. However... would I have gone so far as to kill you? Would I have gone so far as to attempt and destroy Jotunnheim altogether? Would I have thrown myself into the void of space just to spite Odin? I should say not. Oh, I would have been furious with you for a time, might have made your life miserable with a prank or two. I might have found a way to assassinate Farbauti anyway. Would I have gone to the extremes I have, would I have succumbed to spite and hate at the expense of everything including elementary self-preservation? No. I would not.”

Thor reaches out to rest a hand on his arm. “I believe you. Thank you for your honesty.”

“You appear... relieved,” Loki observes. 

“I admit I am,” Thor replies easily. “The thought that I could have been so very mistaken in your character has troubled me greatly. I had believed to know you quite well, yet the extend of your rage caught me by surprise. I am relieved to know that I do know you, after all. The brother you describe is the one I know. Vengeful and troublesome you are, Brother. Intend on murdering me? Seeking to conquer and rule, or destroy? No. That is not the man who has fought by my side all these years.”

Loki smirks. “Your high esteem of my character is much appreciated.”

Thor grins back toothily. “You are quite welcome.” 

Loki feels a chuckle bubble up in his chest, and does nothing to hinder it. Oh, he hasn't really laughed in far too long. 

“Now, this quest of yours. You will require comrades.”

“I will indeed.” Loki raises his eyebrows at Thor. “I was thinking the, what was it? Earth's mightiest heroes?”

And Thor's eyes open wide. He looks, Loki thinks in satisfaction, as if someone had hit him between the eyes with his own hammer. 

“The Avengers?” he splutters. “The very people who defeated you?”

“Precisely.” Loki smiles, and knows it is narrow and unpleasant. “Granted, they had my full cooperation in defeating me. Yet, they made a good showing of it. In addition, they are unknown to the rest of the galaxy, given Midgard's... isolated position. As I expect a considerable amount of subterfuge to be necessary to achieve our objectives, that will be advantageous.”

Thor makes a thoughtful noise. “True enough, still. Although word of Midgard's recent advances is spreading.”

“Why do you think I sent you?” Loki asks sharply. “I am not at all pleased at the way the Kree and Skrull Empires are circling a realm that is part of Yggdrasil. I would not be surprised to learn that the precursors to a Skrull invasion are already under way.” 

Thor frowns in a way that has, on occasion, sent enemies fleeing. “You believe the situation to be that immediate?”

Loki taps his fingers on the table. “The whispers Hugin and Munin bring are vague and confusing, but... it is an instinct more than anything, but, yes, I believe it is either imminent or already under way. The Kree are keeping their distance, but they are observing the situation.”

Thor crosses his arms, leans back in his chair. “A delicate situation indeed. As part of the Nine Realms, Midgard is under Asgardian jurisdiction. Yet, as the realm has no defined leader and the native population is largely unaware of this, both the Kree and the Skrull might try to argue that it is unclaimed ground and an invasion does not constitute an act of war against us.”

“Hence my establishing a known Asgardian presence in the realm. Thankfully, you are such a shining and heroic figure that the Midgardians seem inclined to believe you a guest rather than an invader.”

Thor chuckles. “Not all on Earth are happy with my presence, far from it, but yes, there has been no major attempt at removing me. Would you step in if this invasion manifests?”

“ _I_ would,” Loki answers. “Mother would. Odin would not, I believe. He is wary of straining our relations with either empire. Powerful as we are, we can not take on either of them and hope to win.” Thor makes a noise of protest, and Loki shoots him a scornful look. “Don't be a fool, Brother. They are as old as the Nine Realms, both of them, and far vaster, with far more resources than we possess. Our only advantage is that fighting us would weaken either of them to such an extend that the other could take advantage of it. That is all that stands between us and being summarily annexed.”

Thor suddenly gives him a shrewd look. “But if we possessed all the Stones...”

Loki smiles, and says nothing. 

“It is always more than one plot with you, is it not?” Thor observes, and Loki would almost call the look on his face admiration. “And what better demonstration of our might than ridding the universe of the Mad Titan. I believe I am beginning to see the stakes of your game, Brother.”

“I believe you are, yes. Have I your help in this undertaking, then?”

“Of course you do,” Thor says immediately. “I shall approach the Avengers on our behalf.” He pulls a face. “While your feigned invasion certainly did not lack in flair, did you have to anger your future allies quite that much?”

Loki laughs. “Ah, but they were so much fun to play with. And I had to be convincing, did I not?”

“Loki,” Thor groans. “It will not make this easier. But, very well. I will start with Captain Rogers, and hope that he and I can convince Stark.”

“The Iron Man,” Loki muses. “Such a brash mortal, to tangle with the likes of you and I with nothing but his armour.” 

“Without him, we have nothing,” Thor warns. “We need both Captain Rogers and him on our side if we wish to have a chance to convince the rest.”

“We could certainly use the beast,” Loki says and ignores Thor's reproachful look. “His strength outstrips even my highest estimates. The other mortals, however...”

“They are expert spies and valiant comrades in battle,” Thor chides. “If, as you say, this quest will require a degree of subterfuge, their skills will be a valuable addition.”

“As you say,” Loki concedes and rises. “Initiate contact, then.” He pulls a small artefact out of one sleeve, a small red crystal cube covered in a delicate filigree of copper-coloured metal. “Take this. You need but press here to activate and deactivate it. It will keep curious eyes and minds from any conversation you have, including Heimdall's. It has a very limited range, however. You need be in the same room as the person you speak with. It will not cover any form of telecommunication.”

Thor takes it with careful fingers, turns it in his hands to examine it, then looks up. “This is exquisite work, Brother. Yours?”

Loki allows himself a lazy shrug. “My previous association was not entirely without benefits.”

Thor tucks the small cube carefully away into his belt. “I shall make good use of it. What is our course of action?”

“I shall happen to fall into the Odin-sleep and hand the throne to Mother in the next three days. She will call you back on the occasion, and we may reconvene then.”

“Agreed,” Thor says as he rises himself, then pulls him into another hug. “I am so very glad to know you back alive and well, Brother.”

And for a moment, Loki allows himself to just enjoy his brother's forgiveness and affection. Then he pulls away and rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes, you big oaf.” He waves a hand imperiously. “Go and make yourself useful, will you?”

Instead of retaliating, Thor just laughs, claps him on the shoulder again, fingers squeezing tight for a moment as if to reassure themselves of his existence, then gives him a mocking bow. “Yes, my Lord.”

Loki sniffs at him disdainfully, and shifts back into the All-Father's guise to accompany Thor out of the room, taking the wards down as he goes. This has gone far better than he had feared.

***


	4. Chapter 4

In the end, the first person Thor tells is Jane. 

The Bifrost deposits him in front of her residence and he shifts into the Midgardian clothes he was wearing before he left. He is certainly no shapeshifter, no sorcerer, but he has power in his blood. He can't access most of it without Mjolnir, but he has mastered enough for a few elemental spells. His armour is far more than cloth and metal he dons in the morning– it is part of him on a fundamental level, a physical manifestation of his power, and as such he can shift into it at will. 

He takes the stairs in leaps and bounds, strides into Jane's small apartment and sweeps her up into his arms, kisses her deeply. She gives an adorable, muffled squeak of surprise, but wraps her legs around his waist, her arms around his shoulders. She's so light and fragile in his arms, and yet she always acts as if she were invincible, chases after knowledge like a wolf after a wounded deer, so bold and tenacious. 

How can he not admire these mortals, these humans, now that he has felt what it is like to be so fragile, so easily wounded, so easily wiped from existence? So many of them have such spirit, so much determination to stand and fight even against impossible odds. Their bodies might be fragile, but they have hearts strong and true to make any warrior proud. 

Yes, he loves Midgard, in all its imperfect, conflicted glory. And he loves this beautiful, strong, proud woman who will not be dazzled by his power or his blood, who would not bow to his station if asked to, this woman who will not be intimidated by the scorn of a civilization far older than hers, who believes in her own mind and capabilities. 

He carries her over to the table, sweeps a mess of papers aside to set her down on it. 

“Thor?” she gasps, surprised, but he kisses her again, hungrily. He wants her, and unless she objects, he intends to have her right here, right now. 

She doesn't object.

***

“What was that all about?” she asks, still breathless, afterwards. Thor managed to not break the table, which he's somewhat proud of. He reaches into the small pocket dimension that is normally attached to his belt and pulls out Loki's clever little device. He has a moment of apprehension before he switches it on, as he does not know enough about such things to be entirely certain that it is what Loki claimed it is. However, he has decided to believe Loki. He tricks and deceives when it suits him, but he is more honest than his title as the God of Lies gives him credit for.

When Thor turns the device on, he feels the expected hum of subtle wards, and nothing untoward. He spends a quick moment scanning his own mind, but can detect no foreign influence and the device has not harmed him in any way. So he sets it onto the table, gathers Jane close, and says: “My brother is alive.”

***

“I don't think that'll work,” Jane says once he's informed her of what has transpired. “Tony called after you left,” she elaborates, “and he mentioned that Steve is somewhere in eastern Europe, looking for his friend. I mean, I suppose you could fly over and try and find him, he was on his way to Belarus yesterday, but...”

“He is already engaged in a quest of his own. I understand.” Thor nods. 

“And the easiest way to find him would probably be to ask Tony where he is, and then Tony'd probably ask why you'd want to know... Unless you have Steve's phone number?”

Thor shakes his head. “I do not. I now regret that I did not accept his offer, yet I did not foresee a situation such as this, where I would not wish to contact Tony Stark first.”

“Who knows if you'd reach him, anyway,” Jane says with a shrug. “If I understood correctly, he's doing stuff that involves sneaking into Hydra hide-outs and whatnot. He probably has his phone off in any case.”

Thor sighs. “It cannot be helped. I shall have to talk to Tony Stark first.”

Jane combs her fingers through his hair, frowns a little. “D'you think it'll be a problem?”

“He has reason to dislike my brother personally,” Thor points out. “While none of the Avengers will be inclined particularly favourably towards Loki, I gather he nearly killed Tony in person. In addition, Tony is a shrewd man, one who does not trust easily. I have known his like before, at court. I'm afraid that his initial reaction will be a complete rejection of my brother, and once decided, his pride might well prevent him from changing his position.” He smiles a little. “In that, he is, in fact, not unlike my brother.”

“And you think talking to Steve would help?”

“While they have fought, of all of us, the Captain has the least reason to hate my brother on a personal basis. And he is not a man to nurse his grudges. If Steve were to entertain the notion of aiding Loki in his quest, I believe this would impact favourably on Tony. And for while the Captain is the designated leader of the Avengers I am perfectly aware that he is so only on Tony's sufferance. Tony Stark is not a man to follow anyone's direction if he does not already wish to do so.”

Jane tangles her fingers a little further in his hair. “Yeah, no, Tony's not the type to follow orders. And since he's the one financing you and everything... You want me to come with you? Put in a good word for Loki?”

He leans in to kiss her briefly. “Your offer is appreciated. However, if I must speak to Tony first, I believe it is best if I do so alone.”

“Okay.” She kisses him. “I assume you're flying right over? Maybe you should call first, though.”

Thor agrees. He knows he will need every ounce of good-will he can generate, and has no wish to start this conversation on the wrong foot just because he did something Tony might perceive as rude. 

Of course, he can't say anything about the actual purpose of his visit over the phone, as Loki has warned him, and he is painfully conscious of the fact that there are entities who are able to hear every word he speaks, entities of which Heimdall is the most benign. 

It might be much easier if they brought Heimdall into their confidence, he thinks as he contemplates what exactly to say to Tony that is neither unnecessarily (and suspiciously) cryptic nor obviously a pretence. However, he is aware that if Loki has one sworn enemy in court, it is Heimdall. As demonstrated by Heimdall's actions during Loki's brief reign during Thor's banishment, his famous sense of duty is compromised when it comes to Thor's brother. Not that Thor entirely disagrees– Loki's actions were certainly questionable. Still. The Fates only know how Heimdall would react to learn that it is Loki whom he has faithfully served these past five months. 

In the end, he asks Tony whether he might speak with him concerning his offer of quarters in the Avengers Tower. He has declined before as Jane was still gathering data on the Convergence and the Battle of Greenwich and he preferred to stay by her side.

Tony informs him that he is free and would be happy to speak to him, and so Thor kisses Jane good-bye, takes a deep breath and a good grip on Mjolnir, and launches himself off the balcony. 

He climbs rapidly, well clear of any Midgardian aircraft, which are, he has learned, generally very clumsy to manoeuvre, and absolutely _hate_ having their flight paths disturbed. He burns his way through the thinning atmosphere, turns around once he's reached the cold, deep silence of space to get his bearings, aims himself at the right continent, and shoots off again. It's not necessarily a shorter flight this way, but it's a much quieter one.

***

Tony finds himself looking forward to Thor's visit. In fact, he finds himself looking forward to Thor potentially moving into the Tower. He's welcome to bring Jane, as far as Tony's concerned.

Tony's named the thing Avengers Tower for a reason after the Battle of New York. Since he was repairing it anyway, he took the opportunity for a re-design, and he figures they need an HQ. He's glad now that he's not left that in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s 'capable' hands. 

He's never considered himself a team player. He's usually frustrated with being the smartest, quickest person in the room, and having to wait for others to catch up, for them to rehash the same thing over and over until even the last idiot has gotten it. No, he gets much more done, much faster and much better, if he works on it by himself. 

_This_ team, however– this is something completely different. While Bruce's speciality lies in a different field than his, he's certainly Tony's intellectual equal, a genius in his own right. And while Tony might've been initially sceptical about Thor and Steve when it comes to brains... Well. Steve's not a scientist, but he is as much a professional as any of them in his field: that of warfare. He's smart and adaptable, and also just ridiculously easy to like. He's just _nice_. 

Thor's an odd one. It has to be that whole alien thing. One moment he rocks that roaring space Viking thing, the next he's courteous and sweet. One moment Tony thinks he's got him pegged down as a sort of well-meaning brawn-over-brains kind of guy, the next Thor makes a razor-sharp, insightful observation on some muddled mess of current politics, and Tony remembers that, yeah, the guy's a prince, actual fucking royalty, raised to rule. Oh, and two thousand years old. Oh, and if he gives the phone Tony tosses him a puzzled look, then that's likely 'cause he has to take a moment to figure out how to work something so primitive. 

Yeah, this team is different. They're all misfits, and somehow that makes this the first time that Tony's actually happy to work with other people. Of course, that means they promptly disappear on him. 

Since Hulk's constructive, and articulate, help during the invasion, Bruce's gone off to somewhere in the middle of nowhere to try and work things out with his other part. From his occasional calls, it's going well enough, but he's still not comfortable in densely populated areas. Thor's staying with Jane, which Tony can understand. Unfortunately, Jane's declined her own personal lab floor in favour of studying the after-effects of the convergence in Greenwich. Not that Tony can blame her on that one, and she has accepted a consulting position with Stark Industries. He's keeping that lab floor available for her, too, just in case, just as he does with Bruce's. 

Steve's been working with S.H.I.E.L.D. and keeping his own apartment in D.C., though they've stayed in contact, more than Tony has with the others, and they've dropped by each other's places when they were in the area. 

He hasn't seen much of Nat and Clint. Even more than Steve, they were full-time S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, always busy with some spy mission or other. Maybe that'll change now that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s gone for the time being, but with all the info she dumped onto the net, Nat is keeping her head down at Clint's farm. 

Tony didn't mind at first. He'd been busy rebuilding the tower, working on the others, building his suits, dating Pepper, for most of a year. He hadn't been spending a lot of time in the Tower himself. But when the Malibu mansion got torpedoed and he broke up with Pepper, he moved into the Tower instead, and somehow, over a year later, he's still here. He could go back to Malibu, of course, but he finds himself reluctant. As peaceful as their break-up has been, the mansion still holds the memories of the future he'd thought he wanted for those months– and the memories of his struggle with the after-effects of New York. Oddly enough, he's now more comfortable at the actual site of the invasion than at the place where he fought the nightmares and panic attacks. 

And then he's been busy with Extremis, of course, reconfiguring it, refining it, controlling it, rebuilding the suit to match his new capabilities. 

So it's only been recently that the Tower's started to feel... empty. No, he wouldn't mind at all if Thor moved in.

***

Thor hurtles down on the landing pad about three hours after his phone call, red cloak streaming, then rises to his feet and by the time he's walking through the door he's in jeans and a red flannel shirt instead, Mjolnir nowhere in sight. One of these days, Tony's gonna ask him how he does that.

“Thor, buddy!” Tony greets him. Instead of his outstretched hand, Thor grabs his arm above the wrist and pulls him in for a hug and a hearty pat on the back. 

“Friend Tony. Well met,” he says warmly, and Tony finds himself answering the grin Thor's flashing him. 

“Yeah, good to see you, too. Beer?” Tony leads the way into the living room, motions Thor to the couch as he grabs two bottles from the fridge. “So, I hear you popped off to Asgard today already– or maybe it's yesterday for you, time zones, whatever.” He waves it away. “Everything okay back home?”

He hands Thor a bottle and takes the couch across the coffee table from him. 

“Thank you,” Thor says graciously. “Things are indeed well in Asgard. Better, I should say, than they have been. The reason for my return was my mother's recovery from her injuries.”

“Hey, glad to hear that.” Tony takes a sip of his own bottle. Thor does look better than the last time he talked to him. Since his mother's injury and his brother's death in that invasion half a year ago (Dark Elves. Like, seriously?,) he's been subdued, had kind of a melancholy air around him. It's gone now. Thor's all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. 

“So your mum's gonna be okay?”

Thor nods with a smile. “The healers expect her to regain her full strength within days.” He makes an odd gesture, a twist of the wrist, like he's scooping something out of thin air and at the end of it, there's a small cube in his hand. Tony watches curiously as he presses his thumb to the side of it, then sets it down on the coffee table between them. 

“What's that?” he asks, not sure what to make of this. The thing is maybe two inches across, a red crystal in a cage of metal curling all over itself like an intricate web of vines. It doesn't seem to be doing anything as it sits there, no glowing, no humming. 

Thor's eyes are serious when they meet his, the good cheer muted. 

“It is a device that carries an enchantment which will allow us to speak privately, sheltered from all eyes and ears.”

Tony leans back in the couch, crosses his arms, narrows his eyes. “That's hardly necessary to discuss future living arrangements, I should think.”

Thor nods. “A pretext, I'm afraid. Although one I do wish to discuss with you, should it still be applicable after our present conversation.”

Tony frowns. He doesn't like the sound of this _at all_. What the hell does Thor want to talk to him about that he thinks Tony might rescind his invitation afterwards?

“Okay. Let's have it, then.”

Thor looks at him with all the earnest sincerity he possesses. It's a lot. “I ask that you hear me out before you make your judgement, my friend,” he says. “There is much at stake.”

Oh great. Yeah, Tony doesn't like this. He nods sharply. “Yeah, got it. Get on with it.”

Thor leans back, takes a deep breath, and starts. 

And, no, Tony doesn't like it. How the hell is this his life? Here he sits on the couch with his friend the alien and listens to some crazy story about how there's a guy out somewhere in the universe (yeah, universe) who has a hard-on for Death. Like, literally: He's in love, romantically speaking, with the personification of Death. Has been for a long time, from what Thor says. The Mad Titan, the galactic rumour mill calls him. Has devastated entire star systems in tribute to his lady love. But 'cause that's not enough, obviously, he's now looking for a bunch of powerful artefacts so he can kill more people faster. And by more people, Thor means the whole galaxy. And maybe a few more. Maybe the whole universe. 

Tony massages the bridge of his nose. 

He's dealt with the end of the world. He's dealt with alien invasions and wormholes and other worlds and people who breathe fucking fire. He's dealt with super-villains and mutants and all sorts of crap. But what the hell's he supposed to do about some immortal nut-ball who wants to end _the universe_? 

“Gather the stones first,” Thor says when he asks as much. 

“Right. Sure.” Tony scrubs his hands through his hair. “Okay, play intergalactic treasure hunt before the whack-job alien does. Only... why us? I mean, not to sound like a self-centred ass, but I'm really not sure we're the people for the job. This sounds way out of our league. I mean, hell, we don't even have proper space travel yet. If there's bad guys of the calibre of this Mad Titan around, I'd sleep a lot better if you told me there's good guys out there who play on that level.”

Unfortunately, Thor says: “None who have managed to defeat the Mad Titan so far.”

“Ungh,” Tony makes in dismay. “Not reassuring, big guy. So how immediate is this? On a totally selfish level: why should we care? Yes, if he smokes the galaxy that concerns us. On the other hand, if we get in his way, what are the chances of drawing his attention here, earlier than we would like to?”

Thor winces a bit. “I am afraid, friend Tony, that we already have his attention. The Tesseract is one of the artefact he seeks. The Battle of New York was his doing.”

Tony feels his eyes widen, hisses out a breath. “Son of a...! But, that means... Loki. _That's_ who he was working for?!”

Thor nods and looks like he'd rather be somewhere else. Tony narrows his eyes at him. 

“Why do I get the feeling that there's more you haven't told me yet? Thor?” Tony has a very, very bad feeling. “Who gave you all this info all of a sudden?”

Thor squirms. Out and out squirms and gives Tony big, guilty puppy-dog eyes. “My brother is not dead,” he says and Tony shoots to his feet. 

“Fuck!” he swears, paces away from the couch, then whirls back to face Thor with his arms crossed. “God damn it, Thor! What the hell?! I know he's your brother and all, but why should I believe a single fucking word out of his mouth?!”

Thor rises as well, reaches out a hand as if to lay it on Tony's shoulder. Tony jerks back with a snarl, and Thor raises both hands placatingly. 

“I understand your concerns,” he says earnestly. “You have every reason to dislike and distrust my brother.”

“Damn straight,” Tony growls. 

“However, I _know_ my brother,” Thor continues. “I will not claim that he could not lie to or trick me. He can, and he has. And yet, I am sure in my heart that the man I spoke with today was my brother– more than he has been these past years. And his tale has answered many questions that have been plaguing me. The Mad Titan is certainly no invention of his, and neither are the Stones.”

“He could've just used an existing story to sell you whatever crap he was selling you.”

“Indeed he could have. Still, will you allow me to tell you the rest of the tale?”

Tony huffs out a frustrated breath, then unfolds his arms, gestures. “Yeah, fine, okay, whatever.” He takes a seat again, foot tapping in agitation. “Dazzle me.”

He kind of wishes he hadn't, half an hour later. 

“So let me get this straight: Due to magical artefact exposure, he went nuts, and ended up stuck with this Titan guy. But when he invaded my damn planet, he was already much less nuts, and essentially it was all a big show and he lost _on purpose_ , and getting arrested by you guys and stuck in a dungeon cell was all part of the _plan_?”

Thor nods. “That is correct.”

“Does that sound just a little crazy to you?” 

Because it does. No one _plans_ like that. There's too many variables. Too much depends on other people's decisions. How could Loki know what he'd find once he arrived through the Tesseract? How could he know there'd be anyone on Earth capable of putting up a fight? But he also remembers some things, little things: How Loki had let them capture him, to... distract them from Selvig's building of the portal? So he'd thought. But he also remembers Loki saying “a warm light for all mankind”, mocking, cutting– on the heli carrier, the moment he got there. Pointing them at Stark Tower. Why, if you're going to open your invasion portal, would you draw your enemies' attention deliberately but obscurely to that location? He hadn't been bragging, gloating. It was just a snide, petty little quip, its purpose unknown. 

He remembers Loki prowling in the penthouse like a caged animal. Hell, Loki even _told_ him. “That was the plan,” he said, eyes alight with... _something_ , when Tony pointed out how he'd managed to piss off every single one of the Avengers. “Not a great plan,” Tony had replied. It wasn't. Not if you wanted to _win_. 

If you wanted to lose, however... 

“Fuck me,” Tony says, passes a hand over his face, stares unseeing out the window. There, that's the spot Loki stood, looking out over the city, jumpy as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs. He'd given himself confident, megalomaniacal, but he'd been tense, restless. 

In a twisted way, it does make sense. 

He looks at Thor again, who's giving him hopeful blue eyes. “How would he know he wouldn't be executed or whatever on his return? How did he know Thanos wouldn't come after him? How did he know he'd have an opportunity to pull his fake-death act?”

“My mother would never let my father sentence him to death. Neither would I. A gamble, certainly, but one he was likely to win. And while, as a king, my father must present himself a stern judge, I believe that as a father he still loves my brother– although I do not believe that Loki is willing to accept that at this point in time. His fury at Odin is real, and runs deep. 

As for Thanos... Certainly he could challenge Asgard at this time. It would cost him dearly, however. As long as he was considered a failure rather than a deliberate traitor, Loki believed he would not be worth the trouble. Correctly, it appears. As for his apparent death– he seized an opportunity, I believe, but if it had not come about on its own, he would no doubt have engineered one.”

Tony sighs deeply. “Okay. I'm not convinced, but lets say I believe you. What's next?”

Thor leans forward. “Loki has sworn revenge on Thanos. He is determined to end his existence once and for all. To achieve this, he will gather the Stones. With their power to augment his own, I do believe that it would be possible for him to achieve his goal. However, he will require companions for a quest of this magnitude. He has, in short, asked me to speak on his behalf and implore the help of the Avengers.”

For a moment, Tony just stares at Thor, then he throws his head back and laughs, long and loud. If it's a touch hysterical, who cares?

“Loki,” he gasps. “Asking _us_ for help.”

There's a somewhat rueful smile on Thor's face. “He would no doubt prefer to resolve the situation by himself, or, failing that, manipulate us into doing his work for him without ever realizing.”

“Isn't that what he's doing?” Tony asks. “Here you are, trying to convince me.”

“He could have continued in his disguise as my father, and tasked me as such, never showing his hand or his true motivation.”

“Your father,” Tony states. “ _That's_ where he's been?”

Thor nods. “He has been ruling Asgard these past five months in my father's stead. Has ruled well, I might add.”

“And what about your dad? Did he just happen to have an accident or something?”

Thor raises his eyebrows. “Do you believe I did not ask that question? My father has fallen into the Odinsleep and shows no signs of waking. My brother did the prudent thing to present a strong Asgard, and will hand the throne over to my mother now that she is well, as it should be.”

Tony raises his eyebrows back. “Shouldn't _you_ have been the one on the throne if your mum and dad are out of commission?” 

“Loki _did_ offer me the throne half a year ago.” Thor shakes his head a bit, thoughtful. “Would I have taken it had I known I was speaking to him rather than to my father? Indeed, yes, I would have. No, I would not have trusted him to rule. And yet, I can not resent him for offering me the chance to be here. I would have taken the throne, yes, but out of duty. I could have done no better a job of it than he has, and I'm not certain I wouldn't have done considerably worse. My heart would not have been in it.” 

“So what? He's one of the good guys now?”

That makes Thor chuckle. “Through all of the past two years, misguided as his actions were, they were always in the Asgardian interest, or what he perceived as such. No, I do not believe he cares much for you and your world. And he is not a man to be bound by definitions of good and evil. However, I do believe that for the time being, his interests and yours align.”

“Gee,” Tony says dryly. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

“You would not be swayed by pretty words,” Thor points out. “You prefer the truth, even if it be unpleasant.” He tilts his head a bit. “A trait you share with my brother. Indeed, you are not dissimilar men.”

Tony grimaces, waves his hands. “Okay, stop. Creepy. Also, isn't he the God of _Lies_?”

A grin flashes over Thor's face, amused, fond. “So he is. He prefers the lies being told to be _his_ , to be the master behind the scenes, to be the one crafting the pretty words. As recent events have shown, he very much resents being lied _to_.”

Tony snorts. “Hypocrite.”

The fondness in Thor's expression doesn't waver as he shrugs a little. “He is a proud creature, Loki. Being beaten at his own game does not sit well with him.”

Yeah, Tony believes that. Hell, he can understand it. 

He takes a deep breath, slumps back against the cushions. “Okay. Anything else I should know at this point?”

Thor shakes his head, and Tony nods. 

“Alright, then. I'll have to think about this, sleep on it. So.” He sits forward again, grabs his abandoned bottle and takes a deep draw of lukewarm beer. “You and Jane moving in, then?”

Thor's smile is bright enough to light up a Christmas tree. Tony idly thinks that Jane's a very lucky woman, indeed. Thor's ridiculously handsome, and built, and on top of that he's got the sweet, good-natured charm of a Golden Retriever. A Golden Retriever _puppy_.

“I believe Jane has done all she can in London. She needs a more specialized environment for any further research into the Convergence and its effects. I shall support my brother on his quest independent of your decision, but should you, and hopefully the others, join us, it would certainly be convenient to live in the same place. Also, I value your friendship and that of the others greatly, and would be pleased to spend more time with you.”

See, there? Sweet. 

Tony nods. “Sure. Plenty of room here, Jane'll have to give me a list what she wants in her lab.”

“We thank you for your generosity,” Thor says seriously, but Tony waves it away. 

They spend the remainder of Thor's visit discussing the particulars of his and Jane's move, and whether they can bring Jane's assistant and her boyfriend, which, sure. The more the merrier. They've got eight floors, even if some of that goes for pool and sauna and training facilities. There's plenty of room. 

They only return to the topic of Loki when Thor's about to leave. He's already warned Tony about the limitations of his little magic cube. 

“You will let me know your decision?” he asks as he clasps Tony's arm. “I shall speak to my brother again in three day's time. However, if you require more time...”

Tony sighs, shakes his head. “Don't think more time's gonna help. I'll let you know tomorrow.” He studies Thor for a moment. “Why do you believe him?”

Thor sighs. “I am aware I am taking a chance. I have no proof of his sincerity beyond the fact that he has had ample opportunity for mischief these last few months, and instead has chosen to rule Asgard well and wisely. I have no proof of even his identity beyond the fact that he speaks like my brother, acts like my brother.”

He returns Tony's gaze seriously, frankly. “I cannot offer you certainty in his motives, friend Tony. All I can offer you is my honest belief that it is my brother I spoke with, and that he was truthful in his words. He has been by my side for two thousand years, and I do know him.”

Tony hates to play devil's advocate here, but... “Yeah, or you could be seeing what you want to see.”

Thor doesn't take offence. Instead, he nods. “Indeed, I could.”

Tony makes a noise of frustration. “Okay, okay. Point taken, you're giving it your best guess.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I'll let you know.”

Thor gives him a smile, inclines his head. “I thank you. 'Till tomorrow, then, my friend.”

“Yeah, see you.”

Thor picks up his little cube, strides out the door, and leaves the way he came, a streak of red and silver. Tony stays staring out the window for a long time after.

***


	5. Chapter 5

In the end, Tony acknowledges that he doesn't have enough information to make a definite decision on Loki's truthfulness, but can he risk dismissing what Thor said? Can he ignore this, do nothing? No, he can't. 

So he calls Thor and tells him he's willing to try “that other thing we talked about”, but reserves the right to change his mind. Thor drops by again, and they agree on an action plan. It's a bit tricky. With the requirement to keep this off of radars the galaxy over and everyone spread around the planet, it'll be a bit awkward. Also, if Tony doesn't, in general, react well to the mention of Loki, that's nothing compared to Nat and Clint. Tony agrees with Thor that Steve will probably be the easiest sell, only there's no easy, unobtrusive way to get him to New York at the moment. And, well, you never quite know how the Hulk's gonna react. 

So. Tony calls Steve and tells him there's something he needs to talk to him about, and arranges a meeting. It's not exactly subtle, especially when Iron Man and Thor fly around half the world for this meeting. Which is why he takes a terrible, blurry recording of street cam footage with him.

They meet in a hotel lobby in a town a few hours' drive from Steve's current lead, and by landing outside of town in a little forest and walking in in civilian clothes, they're about as inconspicuous as they can get. Steve's waiting for them, and his eyebrows rise curiously when he sees Thor. They exchange greetings, take seats around one of the little coffee tables strewn around the lobby.

Tony pulls out the print-out of the street camera footage. “Here, that's why I wanted to talk to you...” 

Steve takes the paper, squints at it, then glances back up at Tony. “This is from New York?”

Tony nods. “Came across it yesterday. Thought it might be something.” He shrugs. 

Steve looks at it again, sceptically. “Well... It _could_ be him. Or it could be a hundred other motor cyclists with chin-length dark hair.” Yeah. That's kinda why Tony picked that particular shot. It doesn't sit exactly right to be half-lying to both of them, but... 

Steve tries to hand the print-out back, but Tony waves it off. “Keep it. I can send you the original footage as well, though there's not much more of it.” Well, he'll make sure of that, anyhow. “I know it's not a lot, but I thought you'd want to know regardless.”

Steve nods, smiles gratefully, and Tony kinda wants to die a little. “Yeah, I do, thanks. Send me that footage, but I'll keep going with the lead we have here. If anything more surfaces that indicates he's in New York, let me know.”

“Will do.” He flicks a glance at Thor, and Thor activates his little anti-surveillance measure. Steve's eyebrows arch, and Tony gives him a half-smile. “Actually, we're mostly here to talk about something else. Thor's got some... interesting news.”

Steve looks non-plussed, and Thor gets talking. 

Steve's frowning mightily when he's finished. “So you're asking us to _help Loki_?” He looks at Tony. “And you're okay with this?”

Tony raises his hands. “Hey, man, I'm sceptical, too. God knows I wouldn't trust Loki as far as I could throw him. No offence, big guy,” he adds to Thor, who inclines his head with a wry smile. 

“I understand your apprehension. Not so long ago, I declared similar sentiments to Loki myself. I admit that the events following Malekith's invasion and his recent conduct fill me with hope that he is once more the brother I have known. You have never had the opportunity to know that man, and I cannot fault your wariness.”

Steve swipes a hand through his hair. “It's not just that. You say the invasion in New York was mostly staged, that he meant to lose. Well, three thousand people died for his little show.” Steve's eyes are hard and clear. “Three thousand people, Thor. Most of them civilians just going about their day. And that's not even counting all the many more who were injured.”

Thor winces, and Tony grimaces. 

“And I know people die in a war,” Steve continues. “I know sometimes you have to accept collateral damage. God knows I've always tried my best, but I'm not innocent on that front. But...” He leans back, crosses his arms across his chest, sighs. “He picked the location. He picked it, knowing it was in the middle of one of the largest cities in the world. And I'm not sure I can work with someone capable of that.”

A silence falls between them as Tony, for his part, tries to come up with something to say to that. 

“And, also,” Steve continues before he can, “what happens after? We're supposed to let Loki use that super-powerful artefact, and then? Providing that all works, what happens then? Does he go back to prison? Is he a free man now? Are we just supposed to forgive and forget?”

Thor gives a sigh of his own, runs a hand through his beard. “I do not know what to tell you, my friend. I doubt Loki would willingly go back to prison. And if we are victorious, he is likely to be welcomed back in Asgard a hero. Vanquishing the Mad Titan will be a feat worthy of redeeming him, will it not?”

Steve gives Thor a sceptical look. “You said he's doing it for revenge. It's not like he's doing it out of the goodness of his heart.”

Thor raises his eyebrows. “Whatever his motives are, they will hardly diminish the glory of that battle– or the benefits to all life in this galaxy.”

Steve doesn't look happy at all. “It also won't bring back the people his actions killed two years ago.”

“Neither will his continued imprisonment,” Thor points out gently. 

“Yeah, but at least he's not _rewarded_ for it!”

Tony clears his throat. “If I understood correctly, actually, yeah, he kinda was. Rewarded, I mean.” Steve glares, and, okay, maybe that wasn't the wisest thing to say. “Look, I know what you're saying. His little scheme got a lot of people hurt, a lot of people killed. And he should face consequences for that. But let's be realistic here. We've no way to force any consequences on him. And neither, it seems, does Asgard. He's too slippery. And it sucks. But, always provided a word of what he says is true, is that really our biggest concern right now?”

Steve runs his hand through his hair again, shakes his head. “I don't know. I hear what you're saying, and you're probably right. I just don't know if I can work with him. I don't know if I can stand being in a room with him. Actually, no, I know I can't stand being in a room with him.” He meets Tony's eyes, then Thor's. “I'm not gonna say a word. I'm not gonna stand in your way. I'm not even saying don't call if you need help. But... I'm not in. I'm not working with him, or for him.” He rises, and so do Tony and Thor. “Look, guys, I'm sorry. But until you have definite, independent proof that this Thanos is the threat Loki says he is, I'm not helping Loki get any more powerful than he already is. Sorry.”

Tony huffs out a breath, steps up to clap Steve's shoulder. “Stop apologizing, Spangles. You're entitled to your reasons.” 

Steve smiles a little at that, crooked and adorable, then turns to Thor. 

“I understand,” Thor rumbles, and pulls Steve into a big, back-slapping hug. “You are a good man, Steve Rogers. If we obtain such evidence, we will let you know.”

“Yeah. Or, you know, before you die or anything, call me.”

“Will do,” Tony agrees.

They say their good-byes, and Thor vanishes his little device back into thin air, and then they return to New York. 

“Well,” Tony says when they're back in his living room, cube activated, and he's pouring himself a drink. “That didn't go as I'd hoped.”

***

With Steve out for the moment, Tony decides to turn his efforts to Bruce next. He'd rather have back-up before he dares mention the name 'Loki' to Clint, or, God beware, Natasha. If anything, she's taken the abduction and subsequent mind-whammying of her boyfriend more personal than Clint has. So he calls Bruce up and invites himself over, wheedles Bruce's current location out of him. He suits up, and takes the cube from Thor, already activated.

“Anything I need to know about this?” Tony asks as he turns it in his fingers, studies it. “Like, don't turn it over three times or it turns into a pumpkin or something?” Hey, it's a magical artefact– what does he know?

Thor ignores the reference with the stoicism of an alien who's spend the past five months on Earth and has learned that the explanation won't make much more sense than the comment itself. Instead, he assures Tony that there's really nothing he can do wrong as long as he doesn't break it, and they both go on their merry way– Thor to help Jane with moving, Tony off for the wilds of Canada. 

Tony had offered Jane to charter a plane for her, but she'd eventually bargained him down to merely paying for her plane ticket while she organized the shipping of her things herself. “Look,” he'd said, “I want your input on making the suit space-worthy anyway. Consider it travel expenses for an official consultation.”

“If it's for your suit, it's not an official consultation for Stark Industries,” she'd pointed out, but he waved that away. 

“Meh. I'm sure there'll be a product or three for the company in there. Commercial space flight– sounds like an under-explored market to me.”

After that, Jane gave up and let him pay for her ticket at least.

Tony grins to himself as he speeds northwards. Yes, he knows it makes people uncomfortable if he spends enormous amounts of money on them– well, what are, for them, enormous amounts of money. What they don't understand is that _he_ 's getting that money for free– he makes these kinds of sums in interest in a day, in an _hour_. Yes, he's that obscenely rich. And he likes being rich, really, who wouldn't? But he doesn't see why he shouldn't help his friends with it. It doesn't cost him anything, but it makes a huge difference in their lives. Sure, Jane's career is taking off, her papers are getting more recognition, she makes good money as a Stark Industries consultant. But a last-minute plane ticket to New York and shipping her things half-way around the world will cost her the equivalent of a month's work, while it costs Tony precisely nothing– no time, no effort. Simply the global monetary system favouring him. So, really, why shouldn't he? There's worse uses he could, and has, put money to. 

Bruce, of course, lives in some run-down little cabin at the end of the world. He's looking good, tanned and strong and smiling, exuding his usual aura of understated calm. He doesn't comment on the fact that Tony merely flips up his faceplate before taking a seat at the rough-hewn wooden table, doesn't even raise an eyebrow. 

Tony gets right to the point, thrusters on stand-by if he needs to make a quick get-away. 

“So,” he says. “There's a thing I wanna talk to you about. A big thing. It involves Loki.”

Bruce blinks, and now his eyebrows rise, but that's all. So Tony gives him the whole story, Thor and Loki and Thanos and god damn magical artefacts and all. 

Bruce sighs when he's done and taking a sip of water from the glass Bruce'd put in front of him about half-way through. 

“I guess that means you want me in New York,” Bruce says. 

“Well, yeah,” Tony admits. “Honestly, man, I think you'll handle it just fine. People don't give you enough credit for your control. _You_ don't give you enough credit for your control. And your other half's not such a bad guy, anywho. If I gotta be in a room with Loki, I'd feel a damn sight better having you and him at my back– just in case Loki needs a reminder that he's not the only bad-ass around. Also, I wanna pick your brain about some of the modifications I'm making with Extremis.” Besides Pepper, Bruce is the only one he's told what he's been up to on that front.

Bruce grimaces. “You're still... working on it?”

Tony smirks. “Working on _me_ , you mean? Hell, yeah.”

“Tony...”

“I know, I know, I know. You think it's dangerous, you think I'm an idiot. Bruce, buddy, I know what I'm doing. Well, fine,” he concedes at Bruce's highly sceptical look, “I _mostly_ know what I'm doing. Hey, I'm taking this serious, okay? This is my body we're talking about– I'm rather fond of it. I have been diagnosed with narcissism by certain people who shall remain nameless, you know.” 

Bruce rolls his eyes at him. “Just be careful, Tony.”

“Come to New York, and you can keep an eye on me.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Your own floor for lab space,” he coaxes. “And Jane's coming. We'll work on the suit, I want it space-worthy. C'mon, it'll be _fun_.”

“You're going to do it whatever I say, aren't you?” Bruce asks, voice resigned. 

“Well, yes,” Tony agrees. “Obviously. But I'd really like to have you on board.”

“And we trust Loki on this?”

“Hell, no,” Tony answers emphatically. “Mostly, I'm trusting Thor's judgement, and also I think we can't afford to not move on this, if it's true. But I'm certainly gonna keep my eyes open for that double-cross we might be heading for.”

Bruce rubs a hand over his face. “Fine. You got anywhere that could... contain the other guy, just in case?”

Now Tony's the one to raise his eyebrows. “No.”

Bruce stares at him incredulously, and Tony shrugs. “Hey, from what I've seen, there's nothing that can hold him.” He points at Bruce. “Except _you_. Every time, _every_ time you've been the one to reign him in again. Also, I like him. He saved my life. And the way he decorated my living room floor with Loki's spine was just _awesome_.” He grins toothily. “Have you seen it? I'll show you, JARVIS caught it.”

“I was there,” Bruce points out dryly. 

Tony cocks his head. “Were you? How much do you remember, generally?”

Bruce waves his hand vaguely. “Depends. Bits and pieces, mostly.”

“I'll definitely show you,” Tony repeats. “Anyway, I don't see what good a cage's supposed to do. We'd never get you into it in time if we needed it, and I'm sure not locking either you or him up pre-emptively.”

Bruce drums his fingers on the table, shifts in his chair. “What if I lose control?”

“Don't.”

“Tony...”

“No, seriously.” Tony leans forward, arms crossed on the table. “You gotta give yourself more credit. You don't lose control unless you're provoked. That, my friend, is kinda just like anyone else. Okay, so you do it with a special kind of flair, but my point stands. You said it's been going well. And, really. You'll be where the people are who can contain you, if it comes to that. You'll be among friends– your friends and _his_ friends. You know we'll do our very best to keep people safe from you, and you safe from people who want to take advantage of you.”

“In a city in the middle of millions of people.”

“Yeah.” Tony nods. “In the city you helped save.”

Bruce smiles a little, reluctantly, leans back in his chair, stares at the wooden ceiling beams for a moment. “My own lab, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. All the toys,” Tony assures him.

Bruce meets his eyes again. “Alright. Fine. I'll come to New York. _But_. You get a containment unit installed.”

Tony opens his mouth to argue, but Bruce holds up a hand, eyes as hard as chocolate-brown eyes can be. “That's my condition.”

In the face of that steady, uncompromising stare, Tony huffs. “Fine, alright, if it makes you feel better.”

Bruce smiles a little. “It will. Thank you, Tony.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “What are you thanking me for? It's your condition, and your prison cell.” He rises. “I'll sort out a plane for you.”

“I can make my own way,” Bruce points out. 

“But you won't want to fly commercial, and I don't want to wait a month,” Tony shoots back. “Pretty sure the plan is for us to start working on that Thanos thing ASAP, so I'd rather have you around by next week. So. Pack your stuff, gimme a call, and let me charter you a plane. I promise it'll be a small one. Oh, and don't mention the whole Loki/Thanos thing to anyone, and don't discuss it over the phone. Seems there's usually intergalactic ears turned our way, and we're keeping this as quiet as we possibly can.” He shows Bruce the little cube he's stashed in a compartment in his suit. “Only talk about it with this thing in the room.”

Bruce leans over, intrigued. Tony grins. “We'll look over all the scans I'm taking when you're in New York, yeah?”

Bruce nods, and rises, holds out a hand to shake. Tony rolls his eyes, and pulls him in for a quick hug. 

Then he stashes the cube away, mimes a phone with one hand. “Call me.” 

Bruce nods, and Tony snaps his faceplate down and walks out of the cabin– wouldn't want to fire thrusters inside a wooden structure if he doesn't have to, after all. Bruce watches him take off, leaning in the door, and Tony gives him a last wave before he speeds off for New York, tells JARVIS to put on some AC/DC.

***

Loki rounds the corner of the stables and heads for the large paddock on his right. He opens the gate and steps inside. The fence is gold, a masterpiece of geometric designs, fans like sun-bursts and intricate knots morphing into stylized heads of horses and dragons. It's only waist-high. Since the occupant can fly, its purpose is merely ornamental, a homage to the God of Horses.

Sleipnir, all the way at the other end of his domain, lifts his nose out of the thick green lay of grasses and herbs, and looks over. Loki leans against the fence, waits for his son to determine whether he's in the mood for company or not. 

After another moment of contemplation, Sleipnir starts making his way over in a lazy, nonchalant trot. Clearly, he's not going to hurry himself for the All-Father's sake. 

Loki smirks, casts his wards (a bit more difficult, without supporting structures to weave them onto), and drops his disguise. Sleipnir's head comes up, ears swing sharply forward as he halts for a second, then he breaks into a gallop, all eight hooves thrumming along the ground, storms across the field with all the considerable speed at his disposal. 

Stomping, hooves throwing up sods of grass, arse almost on the ground, he comes to a stop, snorts into Loki's face, nudges his chest with his nose, then rubs his entire head against it, hard enough to send Loki staggering into the rather sharp angles of the fence. 

Loki laughs, runs his hands over his head, along his neck. 

“Hush, you silly child,” he chides, scratches the crest of Sleipnir's mane. Sleipnir leans into him with a blissful horse sigh. 

“Yes, I do apologize for not visiting you more often,” Loki allows. “But, really, Son.” He casts a look over Sleipnir. “Piebald? You look like a cow.”

Sleipnir's ears flatten tight, and he twists his head around like a snake, tries to bite Loki in the side. Loki avoids his teeth with a quick jump and a laugh. Ears still back, Sleipnir gives him a horse's version of a glare, broad teeth bared. Loki just grins, and reaches into his pocket. 

“Apple?”

Sleipnir holds the glare for another moment, but eventually his eternal sweet tooth overrules his pride and he takes the slice of golden fruit from Loki's hand. 

Loki runs his hand fondly through his forelock, black and white at the moment, while he chews. 

“Now, I must speak with Hela,” Loki informs him. “What say you, shall we ride to Helheim and visit your sister?” 

Sleipnir's ears prick up, and he prances in place excitedly. 

“I will take that as a 'yes',” Loki says dryly, strokes his palm along the warm muscles of his son's neck again, then lays the other hand over his nose, soft as velvet, and pulls his head down until he can drop a kiss on his forehead, right onto the whirl of hair between his eyes. “I shall go fetch your tack.” He turns to leave, but raises an eyebrow at Sleipnir before he takes his wards with him. “But kindly do something about your colouring, yes?”

Sleipnir tosses his head exasperatedly, then the large black patches fade from his fur until he's pure white. The look he gives Loki clearly asks: 'Better?'

Loki smiles. “Much. Thank you.”

Sleipnir shakes himself nose to tail with a snort, then swings around to present Loki with his backside, as clear a dismissal as any. Loki laughs, and takes his leave.

***

He returns with Sleipnir's bridle over one shoulder, saddle over his arm, and tacks him up quickly. He leaves illusions in their stead, does the same for his son as he swings himself onto his back, picks up the reins.

“Let's fly, Son.” 

He holds on firmly as Sleipnir gives a little jump of excitement, then kicks off, dashes off into the sky as if he had a firm road under his hooves. Loki laughs in delight and just leaves him to run as he will, flashing past golden towers and weaving under silver bridges. Asgard flies by them, gleaming and glittering, stepped and soaring, a multi-faceted jewel of stately elegance, worn-down pathos of ages past, the lighter, more playful lines of recent times, nestled against the mountains, skirted by the forest, by the water, by the stars behind the Rainbow Bridge. It is beautiful and familiar. It is power and magic and home. And Loki will not see it fall to the likes of Thanos, to the likes of the Kree and the Skrull, nor to any threat from within the Nine Realms. He tightens his hands on the reins, nudges Sleipnir towards the mountains and the secret paths.

***


	6. Chapter 6

Helheim is grey and quiet, peaceful the way a foggy morning can be. Far away, the snowy tops of mountains rise, bright and sun-lit, above the soft sea of clouds, while trees stand silent, shadowed vigil over the road. Sleipnir's wading knee-deep in the grey fluff, just for the fun of it– his hooves aren't touching the ground. The speed of his passage stirs the fog, and he delights in snorting at streamers he kicks up, turning them into fading, twisting little ghosts of themselves. His muzzle is beaded in tiny water droplets. 

Hela's palace rises out of the mist, a sprawling grey stone monstrosity with square towers, crenellated ramparts and high, narrow windows running to a pointed arch. A wooden drawbridge leads through a large gate into a stone-flagged inner courtyard where his daughter awaits him. She's leaning against another gateway, smaller, but still easily an arm span over her head. The mist swirls about her bare feet, laps at the bottom edge of the diaphanous green fabric she is wearing wrapped around her waist. She steps up to them as Loki dismounts, rubs her half-brother's nose as he nuzzles her eagerly. 

“Father,” she greets. “Brother.” Sleipnir nudges her, and she laughs, turns her attention to him. “I am afraid I did not expect your coming, Brother, and have no apples at hand.” Sleipnir droops his ears in disappointment and she reaches to undo his bridle. “However, I do believe Father and I might be a little while, and there is an orchard some ways towards the mountains. No great distance for one as fleet of foot as you.”

Loki laughs as well as Sleipnir's ears perk right up again, and pulls the saddle from his back. “Off you go, Son. Find your apples.” 

Sleipnir lashes his tail, nudges both of them with his nose by way of good-bye, and dashes off over the courtyard walls.

They deposit his tack over a railing by the door meant to allow more mundane horses to be tied up, and Loki opens his arms to hug his youngest tightly. She might have grown into a woman taller than him, with a kingdom of her own and fearsome powers, but he will never forget how tiny she was when he pulled her from her mother's dead body. 

They enter Hela's palace arm in arm, and Loki looks around curiously. The walls are panelled with dark wood, the rugs on the stone floor thick, in tones of dark reds and black, the sparse furniture heavy. It is on the whole dark and ominous. He raises an eyebrow at his daughter. 

“You've re-decorated since I was last here.”

She smiles. “I grew tired of the complaints of certain of my charges, about how my previous design deviated too far from the norm, how it had too much 'recent nonsense' in it, how it was not in keeping with the one, true, classical style of Asgardian aesthetics.”

Loki casts another look around. “Well. It is now very… Midgardian.”

“Jor advised me,” Hela replies. “He was a great help, when he heard of my plight.”

Loki looks a question at her, and she smirks, wide and devious. “They have not spoken to me in a year,” she declares smugly, and Loki bursts out laughing. Well, if there is one reason to house oneself in a tacky, overly-dramatic creation right out of a Midgardian's fanciful imagination, he believes it would be to spare oneself the nagging of old men's ghosts who have nothing to do with their time but complain. 

“And you, Father? How have you been? Your recent exploits have been rather the talk of the realms.” The way she looks at him, raises an eyebrow as she says it, is rather uncomfortably reminiscent of her mother. Loki winces a little, clears his throat. 

“Ah. Well. It's not been entirely my fault?”

She heaves a put-upon sigh. “The perk of being your child, dear Father, is that one rarely has to worry about living up to your example.”

“That is a rather hurtful thing to say, Daughter.” He keeps his face calm and his tone placid, but Hela's eyes, green as his own, still see far too much when she looks at him. Her face softens slightly, she tightens her hand on his arm. 

“I love you dearly, Father, and you have always been good to me, to all of us. Not even your fiercest enemies claim that you are anything but a devoted parent. That does not blind us to the fact that you are neither the most responsible, nor the most heroic of men. Still, recent events...”

“As I said, not entirely my own fault.” 

They enter a living room that is broodingly lavish, like the rest of the place, and Loki takes a seat on a couch as Hela pours them both goblets of wine. He accepts it with a nod of thanks, and she sinks down next to him, crosses her legs elegantly. 

He informs her of the pertinent facts of what has transpired, sees her beautiful face harden even as he down-plays the unpleasantness of Thanos' control. She knows him too well. 

“You will destroy him?” she asks, in a tone that is so conversational, so casual that any who knew her mother at all would cower in terror. 

“I will,” he answers. “Do you believe Mistress Death will interfere?”

That is the question he has come to ask, a question only Hela can even attempt to answer.

Hela leans back, sips her wine, winds a strand of black hair around her finger as she considers. 

“I should not believe so,” she finally answers. “Her motives are a mystery even to those of us who receive her power. However, she does not usually involve herself directly in any events in our plane of existence. The Mad Titan's love is, to the best of my knowledge, an entirely one-sided affair, and his existence is a threat to the balance of souls in this universe. You will most likely draw her attention, which is never a comfortable place to be in, but I believe the risk that she will actively stop you to be small.”

Loki nods thoughtfully. This confirms his own expectations on the matter. 

“I shall have to take that risk,” he acknowledges. “Now, how are your brothers?”

Hela shrugs. “They are the same as ever. Thanks to your telepathic message concerning your continued existence, neither of them were inclined to bring Ragnarok down on us, so I do thank you for that, brief as it was.” She cocks her head. “Is it not amusing, how no one sought us out to insure we were not inclined to do anything drastic?”

Loki smirks a little. “They do not like to think about your existence over-much in Asgard, considering your occupation and your brothers' parts in the prophecies.” 

“True enough,” Hela replies. “And neither would we want them to. Still. I would have expected at least Thor to visit. We are family, after all.”

Loki blinks, once, hard. “You have not heard?”

Hela looks at him sharply. “Heard what?”

Loki clenches his jaw. It still hurts. “I am no blood of Thor's, nor Odin's.”

It is Hela's turn to blink, then she laughs. Loki frowns at her. 

“Oh, Father! Of course we have heard! The queen took it upon herself to inform us after you were... lost.”

“Then you know Thor is no kin of yours.”

Hela rolls her eyes. “Thor has been my uncle for as long as I have lived, and I dare say he shall stay my uncle until the day he dies, blood or no blood. He is a loyal soul, is Thor. Do not tell me he has not visited because he no longer claims us as family, for I shall not believe you.” 

That... hurts, too, in an entirely different way. Such faith. Why does he not carry such faith in his heart?

“No,” he allows. “Thor has been on Midgard, playing hero to the mortals and conducting his love affair with one of them.”

“You scoff, and yet your voice tells me you miss him,” Hela says, amused, gives him a narrow half-smile that's all her mother's. 

“Am I that transparent?” Loki demands, exasperated. His mother, his daughter, even Thor... it appears he fools no one anymore.

“Sometimes, you are,” Hela tells him mercilessly. “There is no shame in loving your brother, Father. Why are you so determined to pretend you do not?”

Loki leans back with a sigh, turns his gaze to the ceiling. “He lied to me.” He laughs, a short, unhappy sound. “I am the God of Lies, and my entire life has been a lie. The Fates are certainly having their sport with me.”

“A recent title, God of Lies,” Hela muses. “God of Mischief you have been far longer, and it suits you far better. You say he lied. Did Thor know, then?”

Loki looks back at his daughter, who really is far wiser than he ever was, or likely will ever be. “No,” he admits, and Hela looks at him with exasperation. 

“Then save your ire for those who did, if you must feel so very slighted, and do not lie to _yourself_ regarding the affection you have for your brother.”

And she is right, of course. Has he not already acknowledged that he misses Thor? He has. It really serves no purpose at all to give himself more aloof than he is, in fact, it will only hinder his plans. 

He leans over and kisses Hela's forehead, briefly. 

“You are as wise as you are beautiful, my daughter, and entirely correct. I thank you for your words, and your advice.”

“You're welcome, Father. Now, do promise me you shall do your best to survive this venture of yours. I have no wish to see your soul any sooner than necessary.” 

“I shall do my very best,” he assures her, and rises to give her a hug good-bye. She clings to him tightly for just a moment, then hooks her arm back through his to escort him out.

***

He sends Sleipnir a quick, telepathic call to let him know they are on their way, and he comes soaring over the wall just as they step outside. He's happy as can be, still chewing– and black and white again.

Loki raises his eyebrows, and Sleipnir looks at him with innocence fairly dripping from him.

“Oh, for...” Loki turns to Hela. “Will you tell your brother he looks ridiculous like this?”

Hela, instead, walks up to Sleipnir, pats one black cheek, and gives him a chiding look. 

“You look very dashing, Brother,” she says to Sleipnir. If horses could smirk, Loki knows he would be on the receiving end of one at that. 

Loki sighs, and goes to lift the saddle onto Sleipnir's back. “You're a silly creature,” Loki tells him, scratches the crest of his mane. 

“He doesn't seem very appreciative of your services, Brother,” Hela says lightly as she gently slides the bridle over Sleipnir's head. “Maybe you should dump him in the river on your way back. Let him walk on his own two feet.”

“Surely you wouldn't do that to your own mother,” Loki exclaims. 

Sleipnir turns his head to look back at him, and the set of his ears clearly says he's thinking about it. 

Loki sighs dramatically. “Very well. I do apologize. You are the most handsome of horses, no matter what colouring you're wearing.”

The girth under his hands suddenly slides two holes tighter with ease, and Hela laughs. 

“Who says parents can not be taught, yes?” she murmurs conspiratorially, and easily loud enough for Loki's ears. Sleipnir snorts, stamps a hoof. 

Chuckling, Loki closes the last buckle, and goes to give Hela another hug good-bye. 

“I shall make my next visit sooner, if I can,” he assures her. 

“See that you do,” she replies, gives Sleipnir a last fond stroke over his nose. “It was good seeing you, Brother.”

Sleipnir snorts his agreement, and Loki swings up. He waves at Hela, and his son dashes off, back out through the gate and onto the road. 

He does not drop Loki into the river on their way home.

***

Tony spends the next couple of days between the workshop, fiddling with his newest design, and helping Jane and Thor and their entourage move in. Darcy will fit right in– within the first five minutes of meeting him, she managed to proposition him, ask for his autograph and reference his weapons-dealing days. In short, she was completely inappropriate and Tony likes her already. He does feel a bit sorry for her boyfriend-slash-intern, who seems kind of overwhelmed by her whirlwind personality.

They're still getting settled in when Thor gets his call from Asgard. It's the first time Tony sees the Bifrost up close and personal, and it's damn impressive. He kind of gets side-tracked for the rest of the day as Jane shows him her research.

***

This time, Loki is much less apprehensive as he waits for Thor, seated at the table and sipping at a cup of wine. He has passed on the throne to his mother by the simple expedient of her calling the guards and informing them her husband has fallen into the Odin-sleep while Loki cloaked himself in wards of invisibility.

He is now free, free to move as he pleases, free from the responsibility of the Realm. His head is full of plans, full of potentials– pointless, really, before he knows the results of Thor's advocacy, before he knows who he can count as allies and if he needs to search elsewhere. He admits to himself that he would rather not. Enemies as they have been, at least he knows the Avengers, has a grasp of their personalities. They are men and women of honour, of conscience, each in their own way. While they might try to trap Loki after the end of their alliance, imprison him, deliver him to some sort of 'justice', they are unlikely to murder him during a fight. No, the onus of trustworthiness is on Loki in this constellation, but even there, he has Thor's support. Should he be forced to find other allies, he will have no one to vouch for him, and he will be entrusting very powerful information to virtual strangers. He can work around that, but he will be able to move far quicker if Thor brings him the Midgardian heroes. 

Steps outside the door, and then Thor enters, looks around curiously, smiles brightly when Loki reveals himself after the door has closed. And Loki admits that Hela is right– he does love Thor, and Thor had no hand in the deception. Holding a grudge against him because he's _Thor_ , the Golden, the Heroic, the perfect Odinson, the _only_ Odinson, is rather more childish than Loki wishes to be. 

He returns the smile, waves Thor to the chair next to his, pours him wine. 

“Brother. How have you fared?”

Thor grins, sprawls into the chair. “What, no hello, how are you? Where's your famous silver tongue, Brother?”

“Waiting for a worthier target,” Loki returns, smirks, takes a sip of his wine. “But by all means: How are you?” He gives Thor his best, sincerest expression of attentive concern. 

Thor chuckles. “I am well, thank you. And you?”

Loki rolls his eyes. “Quite fine, thank you. Now. How have you fared?”

At that, Thor sighs, rubs his fingers through the stubble along his chin. Loki arches his eyebrows. That's not promising. 

“Well. As Captain Rogers is engaged of a quest of his own to find a missing friend and I had no way of unobtrusively contacting him, I by necessity approached Tony Stark first, and did manage to convince him to lend us his aid.” His eyes are very blue and earnest as he meets Loki's. “Together, we then sought out the Captain. However, we failed to convince him to join us. Tony has two days ago spoken with Bruce Banner, and he has also agreed to help, and Tony will contact Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton when Doctor Banner is there to accompany him.” Thor leans back, spreads his hands. “That is as it stands.”

Loki blinks. “So the sceptical Iron Man is agreeable, but the dutiful soldier is the one to refuse?”

Thor inclines his head. “Indeed. It appears objections on general moral grounds weigh heavier than personal resentments.” 

Loki gives him a quizzical look. 

“The Captain disapproves of your methods– rather strongly. And as he has only our word for the threat facing us, he objects to place any more power in your hands.”

Loki tilts his head. “Not an unreasonable position, on the whole. So if such proof should arise...?”

“He has indicated he will join us then, yes.”

Loki smirks a little, shrugs. “Ah, well. That is not the categorical refusal you made it sound like, Brother. I'm sure we'll find some such proof, in time.”

“How do you plan to proceed, then?” Thor asks. 

“I shall accompany you to Midgard– invisibly, of course. Once there, I will find myself accommodation and such, and contact you to begin our venture in earnest.”

And that is what they do.

***

Tony's not looking forward to talking to Nat and Clint, he's really not. He'd rather have another throw-down with a bunch of over-sized Doombots. Actually, that was kinda fun. After he got that bus full of tourists out of the line of fire. And possibly Reid will have something to say about the holes in the Baxter building when he gets back...

Anyway. 

Bruce is looking at him all expectantly, so Tony slips on his jacket, makes sure the anti-spy cube is turned on and in his pocket, and motions Bruce to follow him to the elevator. He'll still have the drive and the flight and another drive to come up with what he actually wants to say to them. And he's got Bruce. Bruce likes him. He won't let Nat kill him. 

Of course, three and a half hours later, he still has no idea what to say. And Bruce is _no_ help whatsoever. He just shrugs and reminds Tony that he's not really much of a people-person– that's Tony's job. Man, Tony wishes Steve was there. Steve would be earnest and dutiful and somehow remind them all to be the best people they can be. 

Nat raises a sharp eyebrow when they knock on the door, but waves them in, takes a seat on an old, well-worn couch next to Clint, who puts his video game controller down curiously. 

Tony perches on the edge of an armchair that's threatening to swallow him whole in its soft, pillow-y depths, clears his throat. 

“So, yeah, hi, guys. How's things?”

Bruce gives him an unimpressed look, and Nat narrows her eyes. 

“Okay, Stark. Spit it out.”

Tony tries to look like he has no idea what she's talking about, but her eyes narrow further, and he gives up with a sigh. 

“Okay, don't kill me before you've heard me out, okay? Or after, actually, either...” Under Nat's cold stare, he holds up his hands. “Okay, here's the thing: Loki.”

“What about Loki?” Nat asks, danger thrumming under her deceptively silky tone. 

“Er. Well. According to Thor, the news of his death were highly exaggerated. Faked the whole thing. And he's, um. Asking for our help?”

Nat blinks, once, hard. 

“Come again?” Clint demands. 

Tony takes a deep breath, and launches into the whole tale of super-evil entity and threat to all life in the universe and yadayada.

“So,” Nat says slowly when he's done. “Loki's pissed that someone got the better of him, so we're supposed to forget all about his little invasion and the damage he did and help him find some artefacts that will make him super-powerful so he can then defeat the big bad, and the only proof we have is his word and the fact that Thor's convinced he's not so bad as all that. And we have no idea _how_ powerful exactly this is going to make Loki, or what he's going to do with all that power once he's had his revenge. Am I getting this right?”

“Yep,” Tony says. “That's pretty much it.”

Nat narrows her eyes again, exchanges a look with Clint, considers for a moment. 

“Yeah, okay,” she says then. 

It's Tony's turn to blink. “Wait, what?”

She shrugs. “If this Thanos is real, we need to do something about him. If he isn't, and Loki's playing us, I want to know what his endgame is. And if these Stones are real, I want to know where they are. Obviously, there's _something_ he wants. And we won't find out what that really is if we can't keep an eye on him.”

“Huh,” Tony says. “Yeah, that's kinda what I figured. So we go along for the time being and try not to get stabbed in the back, yeah?”

Nat and Clint nod, and Bruce shrugs. “Sounds good,” he agrees. 

“Oh, hey, wanna move into the Tower now?” Tony asks Nat and Clint.

***


	7. Chapter 7

Ten days after Thor's first phone call, Tony's pacing the length of the living room-come-conference room. Nat's seated with her forearms on the table top and by the stare she's giving him, she's about ready to kill him. Thor's slouched back in his chair, relaxed, and Bruce seems thankfully similarly calm, without the slouching. Jane's next to Thor, studying a data pad that she keeps glancing up from. Clint's inspecting an array of arrows on the table in front of him. 

At least Tony isn't the only one who's slightly apprehensive about Loki's impending visit. And Nat can glare all she wants. He's not wearing his suit, and that's as far as he'll go. If he wants to pace a hole into his own damn floor, he'll do so. (There's the spot that _was_ a hole, after the Hulk was through with Loki. It's a reassuring reminder.)

And then Loki's _there_. 

One moment, the landing pad is empty, the next, there's Loki, strolling up to the door. Tony chances a quick look around, sees backs straighten all around the table. Thor's the only one who's smiling. 

Loki enters, casual as you please, and he looks just the same. Oh, the hair's a little longer, curling around his shoulders, and, God, he's tall. How has Tony managed to forget that? He's as tall as Thor, just leaner. But the dark hair's still swept back to highlight his pale, angular face, his eyes are still sharp and green, his expression faintly mocking, like he's laughing at a joke only he's privy to– a joke they're the butt of. He still walks as if he owns the ground his boots touch, he's still dressed in black leather and green fabric, archaic golden armour pieces. At least he left the horned helmet at home. 

His eyes fall on Tony, who's stopped his pacing, finds himself standing straight and square, hands folded at his back– a stance he'd take in front of a hostile board meeting. 

Loki tilts his head– in greeting, it seems. “Tony Stark.” And his voice– is different. Smoother, calmer. Tony's only heard him say one sentence in that voice: 'This usually works.' It's not a good memory, as such, considering what followed, but that moment was pretty funny. 

“Loki,” Tony acknowledges, and while it comes out clipped and sharp, at least he doesn't sound outright hostile. 

Loki turns his attention to the rest of the room. “Agent Romanoff. Agent Barton. Dr Banner.” He greets them in turn, receives a frosty stare (Nat and Clint) and a cautious nod (Bruce). 

“Thor.” It could be a trick of the light, but Tony thinks his face softens, just a bit, on the name. 

Thor smiles, genuinely smiles. “Brother.”

“And Jane.” Loki inclines his head to her, deeper than before. “You look well.”

“Loki.” Jane crosses her arms, studies him with a frown in turn. “You look not dead.”

And Loki– smiles slightly. “Indeed. Are you going to hit me again?”

At that, a faint answering smile curls Jane's lips. “Well, you did save my life, so I'll let it go this time.”

Loki sweeps her a dramatic, courtly bow. “Much obliged, my Lady.” He straightens, looks around the room again, then back at Tony. “Well. Shall we start?”

Tony meets that expectant gaze, narrows his eyes. “Sure.” He sweeps a hand towards the table in invitation. “Have a seat.”

Loki's lips curl in the faintest of smirks, and he tips his head at Tony again. “Certainly,” he replies, and strides over to take the seat on Thor's other side, while Tony walks to the head of the table, takes his chair last– establishes his authority. Loki might be the one with the information, but he won't be the one running this show, not if Tony can help it.

“Okay,” he says, folds his hands on the table. “Here we are. What's the plan?”

Loki leans back in his own chair. “The Infinity Stones. Acquire them, unite them.” He smiles, narrow and sharp. “Wipe Thanos from existence.”

“Yeah, you wanna elaborate on that? What are these stones, where are they, how are we getting them?”

“Six stones,” Loki answers readily. “Each as old as the universe and, by themselves, among the most powerful artefacts in existence. Together...” His eyes are heavy-lidded, his expression predatory, almost... sexual. “Ultimate, infinite power.” He blinks, focuses once more. “Certain doom for our universe, should Thanos acquire them all, and likely the only weapon capable of truly destroying him.”

“How come you to know all this, Brother?” Thor asks. 

Loki gives a lazy shrug. “Thanos. As he raped my mind, I caught glimpses of his. The Tesseract, too, of course, and Hugin and Munin have been gathering whispers and secrets for me these past months.”

Yeah, okay, no matter how cavalier he uses it, that verb there makes Tony feel kind of sick to his stomach. 

“So,” he says instead of thinking too closely about it. “Is this all rumour and hear-say? Or do we have some definite information here?”

Loki turns his attention on him, and Tony meets his eyes, refuses to be intimidated. To be honest, Loki's expression is neither threatening nor condescending– it's neutral, so much so that Tony has no idea what's really going on behind that cool green stare. It's the knowledge of what Loki _is_ that's intimidating, the memory of the flash-fire burst of violence, the casual, lethal strength of the fingers around his throat. But Loki merely tilts his head, doesn't take offence at all at being questioned. 

“Oh, these are things I am quite certain about. While I do not know how the stones came to be, they most certainly do exist, and their power is undeniable.” He looks around the table, pale eyes intense. “My dear allies, we already know the location of three.” 

Tony blinks in surprise, sees Nat frown, Thor startle, Jane sit up straight. Loki raises a hand, gestures. “The Tesseract.” A translucent green cube forms in the air in front of him, kind of like a hologram. Only, JARVIS isn't about to make holograms for Loki so that... that's magic? “The Sceptre.” Another illusion, of the glow-stick of doom. Loki glances at Jane. “The Aether.” This time, the illusion is that of a writhing, formless mass. 

“They are Stones?” Thor asks in astonishment, and Loki tilts his head. 

“Ah. Strictly speaking, they have a Stone as their core– they are artefacts formed from the Stones, around them, powered by them.”

“Wait,” Bruce speaks up for the first time. “I thought the sceptre was powered by the Tesseract? All our readings indicated that the power signatures matched.”

Loki arches a sharp eyebrow, shakes his head. “Having wielded both, I assure you that they are quite different in their aspect. I would be curious to see if your readings would detect the same sort of signature on the Aether– you might have inadvertently determined the specific resonance of the Stones– something which will no doubt prove extremely useful in future.” 

“Aspect?” Tony asks, before he can think too hard about the fact that that kinda sounded almost like a compliment. 

“Every Stone embodies a particular facet of the universe,” Loki answers. “They are believed to be time, space, power, reality, mind and soul. I am quite certain that the Tesseract contains the Space Stone, and the Sceptre the one of Mind. I am less sure about the identity of the Aether– I doubt it is the Soul Stone, but otherwise, it might be any of the remaining.”

Tony sighs, rubs the bridge of his nose. “What is this, a fucking video game? Next you'll tell me these damn things are colour-coded.”

He looks up and catches Loki's lips curling in the faintest of smirks. “I'm afraid they are,” he answers dryly, gestures again to produce another illusion of six generic, round, kind of jewel-like shapes, each a different colour in their soft halo of green. The blue one moves of to hover next to the Sceptre, the purple one zooms to the Tesseract. 

“Power,” Loki says, pointing at the red one, “Reality,” the yellow one, “Time,” the orange one, “Soul”, the green one. “According to what Thanos knows of them, at least.”

“The Aether is kind of red,” Jane says slowly. 

“True,” Loki agrees. “However, I'm also in pursuit of a lead concerning an orb whose contents are said to grant the wielder invincibility and limitless strength, allow him to destroy a planet with a touch– it does sound rather like the Power Stone.”

“And the Tesseract is blue,” Bruce observes. 

“Having been forged into other artefacts, their appearance has been altered, and apparent colour is not a reliable guide to their identity,” Loki says. “Once we have gathered them all, we will need to extract the actual Stones. We can confirm which is which then.”

“Why are we waiting until we have all the Stones?” Nat asks, voice sharp and cool. “What if we made a mistake, or got screwed over on one of them?”

“Certainly, Agent Romanoff,” Loki answers, tilts his head with every appearance of politeness. “However, you do not, to the best of my knowledge, have the technology or knowledge to extract the Stones, and I will not touch the Stones before it is time. I would prefer to not even look at them, certainly not to be in the same room with them.”

Tony frowns. “Why?” he asks, and if he sounds a bit suspicious... well. 

Loki continues to be refreshingly non-offended. “Power calls to power. And I would not chance being close to something that Thanos is so focused on finding.”

Tony looks around the table, and while Thor's nodding wisely, everyone else looks about as confused as he feels. He turns back to Loki. 

“Yeah, you're gonna have to explain that.”

Again, Loki almost smiles. It's a bit condescending, but not enough so that Tony actually wants to punch him in the face. 

Loki shifts in his chair, crosses one leg over the other. 

“Very well. Now, imagine the universe like a gigantic, infinitely intricate spider's web. Every step you take, every action, possibly even a thought you have, if it is powerful enough, sends strands in this web swinging. A mind schooled in the appropriate arts, with a natural affinity, or simply enough power can read these vibrations– to a smaller or larger extend. Thanos is immensely powerful, and immensely experienced. His reach is extensive, and he knows my mind. Stepping between the strands of this web is a very delicate dance indeed, and I've no wish to needlessly complicate my life. I can stay invisible to his attention easily as long as he is not looking for me. I could escape his notice if he were actively searching for me, but it would be much harder.”

“What's that got to do with you being in a room with a Stone?” Tony wants to know.

“As I said, power calls to power. Thanos is spending a great deal of time thinking about these Stones, and they are among the most powerful things in existence. Let us say, for the purpose of our metaphor, that the strands of the spider's web are especially densely woven around them– and many of them lead directly to Thanos. The moment I touch one of the Stones, he will most certainly become aware of my continued existence.”

“Kind of like gravity?” Jane asks. “Like how the more mass an object has, the more it pulls at other objects?”

“Another metaphor, but an apt one, yes,” Loki agrees. “These stones are magically heavy. They are the equivalent of, say, a black hole in power. And Thanos is of a similar calibre.”

“And you?” Tony asks, boldly. 

Loki makes a thoughtful sounds. “A red giant, perhaps. Albeit a small one.” He flashes his teeth in a sharp grin for a moment. “Not one capable of going the way of a black hole by myself.”

“And we're supposed to hand you the means to go that way,” Nat says dryly. 

“Indeed,” Loki agrees. 

“So why would we do that? Why wouldn't we use that thing to get rid of Thanos ourselves?”

“You are _mortal_ ,” Loki answers, leans forward slightly. “If the unchecked flow of power does not burn you up within moments of touching it, the sudden expansion of your mind will drive you mad.” He flicks his eyes to Clint. “Agent Barton will know of which I speak. He has felt the touch of a Stone– and that was a Stone modified into another artefact, and controlled, filtered, by me.”

Tony has to give Loki that, he has balls. Mentioning this particular incident when in the same room as Natasha? He wouldn't have thought Loki'd go there. Nat's eyes are narrow, poisonous, and she's definitely considering leaping over the table and doing something painful and permanent to him. Or try to, at the least. 

And then Clint says: “He's right. What?” He shrugs at their incredulous stares. “He is. I remember enough to know that much.”

Nat glares at him, then turns that look on Loki. “But you're saying you can wield that?”

Loki raises his eyebrows and shrugs. “I'm saying I'm willing to risk it. I have survived both the Tesseract and the Sceptre. Can I withstand the exponentially more powerful forces of the the assembled Stones? Oh, I will do my very best– long enough to end Thanos' existence in the most agonizing way I am capable of, anyway.” He barks a short laugh. “What, you thought this venture of no risk to myself? All power comes at a price. In this, I shall risk body, mind and soul.”

“And say we succeed,” Nat continues. “Say we get the Stones, and you destroy Thanos– then what?”

Loki tilts his head, meets her green eyes with his own, lighter ones. “Frankly? I have no idea. I wish I could assure you that I would certainly hand the Stones back to be disassembled and hidden away. But, in the first, you wouldn't believe me, and in the second, I don't know. Maybe I will be glad to be rid of them. Maybe I will die.” He flashes another one of those sharp grins. “Maybe I will go mad and destroy the universe.”

“Brother!” Thor protests. “You would not do so!”

Loki raises a sharp eyebrow at him. “No? I remember attempting to destroy a world once under the influence of a powerful artefact.” 

“Under the influence of _Thanos_ ,” Thor protests. “You are not so destructive by nature, Loki.” 

Loki rolls his eyes at Thor– out and out rolls his eyes. “While your faith in me is flattering as always, Brother, do not be a _fool_. I am not such a benign creature as all that.”

“And what of your _family_?” Thor demands, and now Loki tilts his head in consideration. 

“There is that,” he allows. 

“Yeah, okay,” Tony throws in. “ _Why_ should we help you?” Christ, if even Loki admits he might go power-crazy on them... 

Loki's eyes meet his across the table. They're sharp and clear and mocking. 

“What has changed? I have merely given word to what you will have been thinking all along anyway. There is no guarantee I can offer you. However, can you afford to ignore Thanos and the threat he poses? If I am to guess, I would say he is currently brooding on his throne, conjuring up ways to crush Midgard and exterminate all life on it. I _am_ your best, possibly your only chance to get rid of him.”

Tony runs a hand over his beard. Yeah, there's that. _If_ there is that. 

“Y'know, you're not doing a very good job of selling this alliance here. And who says you're even going to hold up your end of the deal when it's all said and done? Who says you're even going to take on Thanos when you could just grab the Stones and run?” 

And, whoops, maybe Tony's finally managed to insult Loki. Thor looks none too happy with Tony implying his brother's a coward, but Loki's eyes are narrowing dangerously. 

“The _point_ of this enterprise, Tony Stark, is for me to kill Thanos.”

“So you say.” Tony shrugs. “But when it comes down to it, you could just leave us hanging and piss off. The Stones would be a deterrent, and you'd be safe without having to risk outright wielding them, no?”

“You believe I would leave Thanos alive in this universe had I the power to stop him?” Loki demands. 

“Because you're so concerned for all the poor little mortals here he's a threat to?” Tony retorts. 

Loki barks a laugh. “Oh, I do not ask you to believe that I would take on the Mad Titan out of the goodness of my heart! Oh, no.” Loki leans forward, places his fingertips on the table. His eyes are luminous and pale like chips of green ice. “Do not trust my good intentions. Trust my rage.” 

“Yeah, okay, so I get it wasn't pleasant when he messed around with your head, but you're rid of him now. Why risk getting on his radar again?”

“He _used_ me,” Loki hisses. Tony thought he's seen Loki vicious before, when he snarled and wrapped a hand around Tony's throat, when he gouged out a man's eye, but he realizes that no, he hasn't. He's not seen Loki incandescent with rage like this. 

“ _Me_! He invaded my mind, compromised my very self. He could have approached me as an ally, as an equal. Instead he used me as a _tool_.” His face is a snarl, his eyes venomous, his fingers white where they dig into the table. There's a creak of tortured wood, and Loki takes a visible breath to calm down, gives a long blink, lets go of the table. There are cracks in the varnish. Loki looks at them, then raises his head again. 

“No, I do not ask you to trust my good intentions. I am no righteous hero, and I won't insult you by asking you to believe such. I am asking you to believe that I am a vengeful man. Trust that my hate of him by far outweighs my indifference to you.”

And, yeah, Tony can kind of believe that.

Nat chuckles, and it's not a friendly sound. “Didn't like the taste of your own medicine, huh?”

Loki still doesn't jump across the table and try to strangle anyone for their perceived insolence. It's kind of a marked improvement in his temper. Instead, he bares his teeth in something that's not a smile. 

“Indeed not,” he agrees. “There is little I dislike more than being beaten at my own games. But to be twisted into behaving like such a _fool_ , such a _child_ , and then used with such heavy-handed contempt in disregard of any gift and talent I have– There is respect to be had between powerful enemies. But this was nothing but an insult, an insult to everything I am, and I will not stand for it.” He gives that not-smile again and his voice is deep and thick with hate. “I will turn Thanos and his pet lieutenant into a smear of molecules across the stars before I rip their souls from their bodies and shred them to pieces with my bare hands so that they may never be reconstituted, may never be returned to existence, that he may never know the peace of his beloved Mistress' arms. I will do this or perish in the trying. For I will make Thanos rue the day he decided to make an enemy of Loki Laufeyson.”

“Loki, no!” It's Thor's outburst, and he looks... he looks horrified. And, well, okay, maybe Tony's a little queasy– more at the absolute, vicious depth of rage behind the words than the colourful description itself. But Thor's their big, burly space Viking. Surely he's used to impassioned oaths of revenge. Tony's not the only one blinking at Thor. 

Thor's eyes, though, are all for Loki, wide and blue and pleading. Loki turns towards him and Thor reaches to close one hand around Loki's forearm. “You are my _brother_ ,” he says, insistently. “We were raised together, we are _family_! I care not where you were born, you are Loki Odinson!”

Oh, Christ. That's what this is about. Space Viking family drama. This must be about that adoption thing Thor mentioned. 

Loki's face is very calm as he shakes his head. “I am not, Brother. I share no blood with your father. Instead, I shall honour the sacrifice he required of my mother, and proudly bear her name.”

“You would forsake me? You would forsake Mother?” It's heartbreaking, the lost puppy-dog look on Thor's face. No super-powered alien demi-god has any business looking that much like he needs a hug, in Tony's opinion. 

Miraculously, Loki's face softens, and he lays his free hand on top of Thor's hand on his arm. “You are not my brother by blood, Thor, but never doubt that you are the brother of my heart. And I will never forsake the woman who embraced me as her true son.”

Thor cups Loki's face in his other hand, and it's such an intimate gesture, as his eyes search Loki's. Loki meets them steadily, until Thor leans forward, pulls Loki in, and plants a kiss on his forehead. 

Tony's really not sure what to make of this spectacle. He feels like he's intruding, like he shouldn't be watching something this intimate. And it screws the hell out of his image of Loki. Surely Earth's would-be conqueror should not accept being kissed on the forehead like a child, by the brother he fought. The brother he kind of just declared his love for in front of all and sundry. It's... it's like he's suddenly a real person. 

“I thank the Fates that you have found your way back to my side, Brother,” Thor says, and yeah, he sounds a little choked. 

Loki closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, visibly takes a moment to pull his composure back together, and if he's faking, he's doing a damn good job of it. 

“Now, now, Brother,” he says, grins, and it's almost as confident as before. “I do believe that this time, it is I who have called you to my side.”

Thor barks a laugh that cracks somewhat in the middle and squeezes the back of Loki's neck. “Of course. Have it your way, Loki.” He's clearly trying to sound patronizingly indulgent, but there's far more indulgence than patronizing in it. 

“I usually do,” Loki says as he pulls out of Thor's grasp, but, similarly, it lacks the bite it's obviously supposed to have. He runs his eyes around the table. “Well then. Are we allies in this quest of mine, or will I look elsewhere for companions?”

“Where would you go?” Tony asks, honestly curious. 

Loki shrugs lazily. “The universe is large, and full of fortune-hunters and adventurers.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “And you'd tell them about the Stones.”

“As much as necessary, yes,” Loki acknowledges, raises his eyebrow at Tony. “It's not my preference. But I will do this, by whatever means I must.”

Yeah, Tony's getting that impression. And he'd really rather not have more people aware of these super-powerful magical artefacts, and he'd also rather keep an eye on Loki. He exchanges a quick look with Nat, sees agreement there. 

“Yeah, no, we're in,” he says to Loki. Loki smiles faintly, pleased and shrewd like he knows exactly what Tony was just thinking. He probably does– it's nothing far-fetched, after all. 

“I am pleased to hear it,” he says, casts a look at Thor at his side– they _exchange_ a look. 

And Loki... smiles. It startles Tony. He hasn't seen this expression on Loki's face before. And certainly, he's no expert on the facial expressions of the demi-god who tried to conquer and enslave his planet, but that smile... It's impish and wicked and strangely _charming_. 

And Thor's whole face lights up like a Christmas tree. He starts grinning, broad, broader, then throws his head back and laughs, full-throated. 

“Ah, Brother!” he says, slaps Loki on the shoulder with a meaty smack, then wraps his arm around Loki's shoulders to half-hug him. “We shall show them the might of Asgard. Our names shall reverberate across the Nine Realms, nay, the galaxy! 'T will be an adventure the likes of which we haven't had in centuries!”

“Or,” Loki says dryly, but that smile's still lingering, “we could die.”

“Naturally,” Thor agrees. “Otherwise, where would be the _fun_?” 

Loki rolls his eyes. “The fact that you have survived this long, Thor, shall forever remain a mystery to me.” 

“Why,” Thor says, his arm still around Loki's shoulders, his eyes on his face, “I've had you to watch my back.”

For a moment, just a moment, Loki blinks, looks almost taken aback. Then he smirks, sharp and narrow. “Careful there, Brother. Next you'll admit there's value in subtlety.”

Thor grins. “I shall certainly do no such thing, Brother.”

Loki snorts, shoves Thor's hand off his shoulder. “Of course not.” He turns back to the table at large, like he's not just bantered with Thor like... like _brothers_. “Let us get on with it, then. You have the Sceptre secured?”

Tony winces, and Loki's eyebrow arches. Fuck, how does the man manage to make him feel like a kid who broke a window? 

“Not quite,” Tony admits. “See, if you'd shown up a month earlier...” He shrugs. “Long story short, S.H.I.E.L.D. confiscated it, like they do, and S.H.I.E.L.D. got infiltrated, like they do, and essentially the whole organisation went down a few weeks ago and we can't find half the coffee mugs, never mind anything of value. So, to answer your question: Secured? No. Is it on the planet: Sure. Somewhere. At least I damn well hope so, 'cause the thought of Hydra with ties to anything or anyone not from Earth– well, it's not a pleasant thought.”

“So you lost it.” There's a nasty edge to Loki's tone, and Tony frowns at him, then rolls his eyes at the bitchy stare coming his way. 

“Oh, gee, if you'd told me it was of possibly world-ending significance before we carted you off to prison, maybe I would've gotten myself involved in a legal battle with my government over possession of it, but as it was, I didn't think it was worth making waves over. I try to only push my luck so far, you know.”

Bruce gives a little cough like maybe he just swallowed a laugh and Nat lowers her head to hide a smile. The look Loki shoots him is very unimpressed indeed. 

“Well. Our first step shall be to recover the Sceptre, then. Meanwhile, I will find the precise location of this orb.”

“How you gonna do that?” Tony wants to know. 

“Someone in the galaxy must know something about it. I expect there will be copious amounts of bribery and subterfuge involved.” 

“Right up your alley, then,” Tony can't help but quip. 

Loki merely smirks. “Indeed. While the tedious pursuit of your local evil-doers is no doubt well within your skill-set.”

Tony narrows his eyes, but can't quite find the insult in the words that Loki's expression says should be there. 

So he rolls his eyes for good measure, then looks to Bruce.

“I'll call Steve, let him know to keep an extra eye out for the glow stick. Anything on your end?” 

Bruce shakes his head. “Nothing I could think of to add to what you're already running. We know the power signature, and the sensors are calibrated as far down as they'll go without giving us a million false results. If it shows up, we'll spot it, but I expect it's being kept in a shielded facility.”

Tony sighs. “Yeah, that's what I thought. Nat?”

She shakes her head. “I'm burned, Tony. Any contacts I had will be long gone, any facilities they even suspect I knew about will've been moved.”

He drums his fingers on the table for a moment. “Would you mind going through the S.H.I.E.L.D. data you dumped on the 'net? It's a long shot, I know, but they were operating inside S.H.I.E.L.D. for so long– there might be a usable paper trail in there somewhere.”

Nat shrugs. “Sure.”

“Very good,” Loki speaks up again, places a small white rectangle on the table. It looks, for all intents and purposes, like a business card. “You may leave me a message here, if your research should bear fruit. Do keep in mind that I cannot ward telecommunications against any curious eyes and ears turned our way, and that it might take me a little while to return a message.”

Tony reaches out and picks it up, and yeah, it's a business card. Nice, high-grade stock, too. On it is nothing but a sequence of numbers. 

“Is that... a phone number?” he asks, incredulously. 'Cause it looks like one. Cell phone number, on a Stark network, too.

Loki's eyebrows are arched high again as Tony looks across the table, the shadow of a smirk back on his face. “It is indeed.”

“You have a cell phone.” 

Loki shrugs nonchalantly. “It appears the most expedient means of communication. Your company produces a decent machine– considering your level of technological advancement, anyway.” 

Or lack of advancement, his tone clearly implies. But Tony's still stuck on the part where Loki of the fantasy-fair armour and horned helmet has a cell phone. 

“Huh. Thanks– I suppose. Here.” He tucks Loki's card away in the breast pocket of his jacket, flips one of his own cards across the table. 

Loki picks it up, studies it briefly, then vanishes it with a flick of his fingers. “I believe that concludes our business for the day. We shall reconvene when necessary.” 

“May I ask for the pleasure of your company one of these days to share a cup of mead with my brother?” Thor asks, so earnest it's almost painful. 

Loki gives him a considering look, then inclines his head. “Certainly.” Then his eyes narrow, his lips curl into that sharp smirk. “However, you need not be so formal about it. Why, I feel like a blushing maiden, being asked for the _pleasure_ of my company.” 

Tony blinks, because, wow, he didn't know it was possible to put that much innuendo into a single word. 

Thor chokes, barks out an incredulous, shocked laugh. “Lo-ki!”

And that's all 'I can't believe you just said that!'– it also sounds like it's a frequent use of Loki's name. Loki's teeth are very white in his wicked grin.

“There are some things too inappropriate for even you to joke about!” Thor growls.

“Why?” Loki asks. “We are unrelated by blood, after all.”

Oh God, Thor's blushing. He's actually blushing as he glares at Loki– who's smirking like the asshole he is and completely unrepentant. 

“We were raised together as brothers– you _are_ my brother, and I will thank you to never insinuate anything of this sort again!”

Loki snickers, then waves a hand. “As you wish. And speaking of family matters, Hela sends her regards and her hope that her uncle will soon pay her a visit.” He does that eyebrow arch, the same one he gave Tony earlier, and much to Tony's gratification, Thor looks about as chastised as he felt. 

“How is she?”

“She is well, as are her brothers– though she does wonder at the fact that no one deemed it necessary to enquire about how they were taking the news of my demise.” Loki's voice is bone-dry, and Thor looks... actually, he looks kind of sickly. 

“I had not... I was...” He breaks of, runs a hand over his face. “Oh dear Fates, Fenrir. He is not...?” 

“As I said, they are well. As I had no wish to doom us all to Ragnarok any sooner than necessary through this scheme, I sent them word of my continued existence.” 

“That... is good,” Thor says, but he doesn't quite look the part. Loki gives him a sharp look, then sighs. 

“You know the nature of magic, Thor. The more people believe and act as if my death were true, the easier it is to convince the universe, and Thanos, of that fact. I informed my children so they would not be inclined to do anything rash. As you are not in a position to bring about the end of Yggdrasil, no, I did not inform you before the appropriate time.”

Thor smiles, a wry kind of half-smile. “I do understand. And I shall pay Hela a visit when next I have the opportunity, and see if Fenrir is in the mood for company.”

“If it is you asking, he might be,” Loki says, with a smile that looks more genuine than his previous ones. 

Thor inclines his head, and Tony can't keep his mouth shut any longer. 

“So, wait, you actually do have a son called Fenrir?”

Loki turns to him, raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I do.”

“And... is your daughter, like, the queen of the dead?”

Loki tilts his head. “She is the keeper of the souls of those of our dead who do not fall in battle, yes.”

Tony blinks, hard. “Does that mean we have to worry about that whole Ragnarok thing?”

Loki shrugs. “The prophecies are... convoluted, as prophecies are wont to be. It is not imminent, to the best of my knowledge.”

“That's... just great,” Tony says, sits back. “I can't believe that stuff's real.” It's one thing to have aliens run around that might have, ages ago, impressed people so much they branded them as gods and made up stories about them, but he hadn't thought to take those stories _that_ seriously. And, yeah, he's read up on his Norse mythology, obviously. 

He eyes Loki. That kind of begs the question... 

“Seriously, though, did you _actually_ fuck a horse?”

Loki gives him a very jaded look. “I do hope you do not believe every word you read in that ridiculous compilation of nonsense. Trust me when I say primitive mortals listening to boasts of drunken Aesir and then re-telling, for centuries, stories they do not understand does not make for reliable source material.”

Thor snorts, leans in conspiratorially. “He did, however, fuck that horse,” he says, eyes dancing and voice carrying perfectly to everyone at the table. 

Loki gives his brother a murderous glare, but Thor only grins widely and leans back in his chair. 

Then Loki sniffs. “Well. At least Svaðilfari was a better lover than some I've had.”

Tony stares, because... because he was _joking_. No way... Loki did not... That's just...

“It was a _horse_ ,” slips out of his mouth, and, yeah, the way Loki's eyes are gleaming? He's enjoying Tony's shock now. His smirk is knife-edge narrow. 

“So was I, at the time,” he says, like it's no big deal. 

“You can... Oh you can not seriously turn into a horse!” Loki's having him on, he must be. People can't turn into horses. He doesn't care if they're alien demi-god people with the fashion sense of a Japanese video-gaming nerd. 

Loki's smirk widens as he tilts his head. “You would prefer to believe that I had intercourse with a stallion as I am, at this moment?”

“What? No, I, ungh!” Tony makes. “Images! Stop!” He waves his hands helplessly, like that can fend off where his brain's going. 

Loki laughs. It's a low, rolling chuckle, and, yes, it's a little vicious, but mostly it's amused. 

“You asked,” he points out helpfully. 

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, glares at him. “Now I wish I hadn't. Also, still don't believe you.”

Loki smirks, shrugs. “Believe as you will.” He glances around the table. “Now, if you have no further questions regarding my love life, I believe I shall take my leave.”

No one does, and he rises, looks down at the table that's still sporting distinctly finger-shaped dents, cracks spider-webbing away from them. A green flicker coats his hand and he passes it over the surface. And in the course of it, the damage is gone like it had never been. 

“Avengers. Brother. Jane.” He gives them all a shallow nod, and then he just vanishes. 

Tony looks at the spot of empty air for a moment, then slumps back in his chair with a huge sigh. Then he sits up again and glances around suspiciously. 

“Is he gone? I mean, do we know if he's gone? Can he turn invisible? I bet he can turn invisible.”

“So he can,” Thor acknowledges, then shrugs. “One can never quite be sure, with Loki.”

Yeah, that's reassuring. Not.

The meeting moves from there to the kitchen rather organically, where they discuss Loki and his plans over pizza and beer (not Loki's 'love life', though. Christ.) And Tony makes a note to find a way to track Loki's presence or absence. Invisibility? Ha, they'll see about that.

***

Tony Stark, Loki muses, swirls the ice in his tumbler of Scotch, as he stands in front of his windows, looks out over the New York skyline in contemplation. Still bold and brash, full of swagger. He has neither the enhanced capabilities of the Captain, nor the sheer indestructible nature of the beast, nor the highly specialized training of the assassins. And yet, he takes authority as his rightful due. Loki certainly remembers the man– how could he not, when he announced himself with a blaring display of what passes for music in this realm, and a flare of weaponry? Even more, perhaps, he remembers the man out of his suit, strutting, threatening, sharp tongue and sharp eyes as he stalled for time, faced Loki head on. Brave, Loki supposes, cool and collected under pressure.

Yes, Loki remembers him well, well enough to see that there is something different about him. Those first signs of age, the first touches of grey in the hair, lines around the eyes and mouth– those signs of the flickering, fleeting lives of the mortals– they're gone. Oh, Tony Stark was a strong, healthy man two years ago– but a man of middle age, inexorably moving towards decline and death in just a few short decades. Mortal. 

Now... now, he has the dark hair and smooth skin of a man in his prime. And when Loki looked at him with the eyes of a sorcerer, when he looked at the energies flowing through him, he saw something he's never seen before: It's like there's a fire woven through the man's body, a humming, glowing, vibrant, _eager_ thing spreading through every blood vessel, every cell, red and gold like his armour. 

It makes Loki very, very curious.

So he takes another sip of Scotch, moves over to the couch and boots up the laptop. While their technology as a whole barely approaches the sophistication of what, say, a toddler of the dwarves of Nidavellir would build as a toy, he has to admit that the internet is a rather ingenious invention. He sets the tumbler down on the coffee table, pulls the laptop across his legs, leans back. Time to see if this wonderful, messy jungle of information can tell him how long Tony Stark has been decades younger than he should be, and what might be the cause of it.

***


	8. Chapter 8

So after Loki's visit, (always provided they survived it,) Tony had envisioned he'd be busy with science-y things of universe-saving proportions. Or maybe out in the suit, kicking ass and taking names. Maybe meet some more aliens. Mystical artefacts, dire missions, cloak and dagger and explosions and high drama. 

Or, well, if not that, maybe he'd hang out in the labs with Jane and Bruce and help them settle in– and if they blew up a few things in the pursuit of knowledge and the greater good, oh well. 

Instead, hell on earth descends on him in the form that the government in its slow, ponderous pursuit of the Hydra mess finally makes its way around to him. And he kinda wishes now that Loki had appeared with a hysterical cackle, given them a super-villain speech about how it was all a trap and they were idiots for falling for it, and killed them all. 

It would've been worth it. At least it would've been quick. Quicker than this, in any case. 

If he's not in Senate hearings, he's having meetings with his lawyers so they can tell him what he shouldn't say (yeah, they all know how that's gonna go...) and what he absolutely, positively, _can't_ say, no matter how much he wants to. Oh, and as if that's not enough, in between he gets to attend board meetings about how this (meaning, _he_ ) will affect the company's future. 

He has Pepper and an army of extremely competent lawyers, so he's not actually worried about not coming out of this relatively unscathed. It's just _annoying_. It's a waste of his time– time he could spend improving the suit, or working out, or inventing The Next Big Thing. Instead, he's stuck in rooms with small-minded, self-important _morons_ who live for grabbing power and pushing paper, and he is so very sick of explaining that, no, the Avengers have never worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. even if they're Fury's brain-child, and, yes, he's sure that no one on the team is a Hydra sleeper, and, geez, _Captain America_ is their leader and he's the guy who kicked Hydra's ass this time, _again_ , and how about some common sense, Senator XYZ, yes, he knows that's not in high demand from government officials, oh, sorry, was that out of line? Anyway, yes, he's sure of the team, no, he's not fucking Hydra himself, thank you very much, yes, his company has hired Maria Hill, not that it's any of your business, yes, she's been subjected to every lie detector test known to man (and a few that are strictly Stark Industries TM), no, he's confident she's not a threat, no, they can't arrest her as a terrorist, she ceased being S.H.I.E.L.D. before it was declared a terrorist organisation (which, talk about closing barn doors after the horse is escaped, and throwing babies out with the bathwater and every other idiom you can think of for doing stupid, useless shit after the fact), and no ex post facto laws and such _is_ still a principle of the law in the U.S. of A. and his lawyers _will_ rain down hell on anyone who tries to circumvent that, and finally, no, you can't have the fucking suit, _still_ , remember last time, and aren't we all glad he didn't give it to Senator what's-his-name?

Round and round and round it goes. 

After a week of talking at politicians and lawyers and military brass (oh, and board members), Tony's headache-y and frustrated and stir crazy. He's down in the workshop, and it's late. 

He picks up his phone, stares at it for a moment, then pulls out that business card, stares at it for a bit, looks between the two things in his hands. He's done this before, in the evenings, when he's finally home, tired and cranky, but can't turn his mind off, his thoughts echoing with the arguments and counter-arguments of the day, and the only way he can settle down is in the workshop. 

He looks over the suit strewn across three worktables, then back at that string of digits, black on white. 

'Oh, fuck it,' he thinks, and dials. 

It only rings twice, then there's a beep. No message, nothing to give away who this mailbox belongs to. 

“Hey, it's me,” he says. “There's something I wanna try out. You, me, the suit, remote location. Get back to me if you've a few hours to spare.”

He'll probably regret this once he's had some sleep. Hell, he's half-way regretting it already. But maybe, if he can't punch the people in the Pentagon in the face, he can at least relieve another source of frustration. It'll be therapeutic. Educational. Getting his own back in the pursuit of science and a worthy cause and all that. Maybe it'll make him sleep better. 

He goes back to work. There are a few things he wants to fine-tune still.

***

He finally goes to bed at some ungodly early hour of the morning. It's Sunday, and thank God, government officials don't work Sundays. One day off before the whole circus starts up again.

A soft chime from JARVIS wakes him far too soon and he blinks groggily at the ceiling as the lights come on. 

“Sir,” says JARVIS, “Loki has just intruded into the room. Do you wish to engage counter-measures?”

“Wha...?” Tony lifts his head to blearily scan the room, then nearly jumps out of his skin when his eyes meet those of Loki, faintly amused. “Fuck!” he swears, scrambles up into a sitting position. 

Loki's sprawled casually into an armchair turned to face the bed– not an armchair Tony owns, all dark wood and green upholstery. He's smirking, the bastard, obviously enjoying Tony's discomfiture. He's also dressed like a normal person– black slacks and a green button-down, both bespoke, expensive, the shirt silk if Tony's any judge at all. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Tony demands, tries to get his brain into gear. 

“You called,” Loki points out, reasonable and mocking. “And left me a somewhat cryptic message. As I'm not entirely certain what your plans are, I decided to speak to you privately rather than bring the matter to anyone else's attention.”

“Yeah, well, appreciated, but why does that mean ambushing a man in his _bedroom_?”

Loki raises his eyebrows. “It's almost noon. I was unaware I would find you asleep.”

Tony frowns, because his brain is still not working, and maybe that's why this conversation is so confusing. “But you knew to teleport straight into my bedroom?” 

“I was unaware that that is where I would arrive, also. I transported to your location when my spell indicated you were alone.”

“Ugh,” Tony says. “Magic. Great.” He scoots back against the headboard, runs a hand over his face, into his hair... which is all over the place from the feel of it. “Okay. All right. God, I need coffee.” This is really not how he imagined having this conversation. “So, I've been doing some improvements on the suit, and I wanna try it out.”

For a moment, Loki looks mildly surprised, then he cocks his head. “You are looking for a fight.”

Tony shrugs, nods. 

“Why not ask Thor?”

“He'd hold back. I wanna know how it _really_ holds up.”

Loki smirks, sharp and shrewd. “And you wish to fight _me_.”

Yes, well... “And that,” Tony admits, narrows his eyes in return. 

To his surprise, Loki leans back, looks anything but thrilled. 

“I have no wish to endanger this alliance,” he says. “Moreover, my brother would be very _displeased_ if I were to damage you.”

It's Tony's turn to raise his eyebrows. “Really? You're worried what Thor might say?”

Loki rolls his eyes. “Well, he does have that dreadfully heavy hammer which he's very fond of hitting people with.”

Tony snickers before he can stop himself. “And you think he'd hit _you_?” From everything Tony's seen so far, Thor's a happy puppy now that he has his brother back. It'd be disgusting if he didn't kinda feel for the big guy.

But Loki snorts. “It wouldn't be the first time, and doubtlessly not the last, either. We have our share of disagreements, Thor and I.”

If the last one's anything to go by, Tony's pretty sure he doesn't want to see the next one. 

“Look,” Tony says. “I might have an overwhelming desire to punch you in the face,” –repeatedly– “but I don't wanna die for it. And I do want to test-drive the suit. So the fact that you don't wanna kill me? No arguments here. And I've no designs to kill you, either,” and, oh, that gets him an incredulous stare, 'as if you could, insect', “since that's not really my style and it would make Thor sad. So. We find ourselves a nice, empty spot, we see who gives up first, we don't tell Thor about it.”

Loki gives him another considering look. “You have much trust in the capabilities of your suit.”

Tony smirks. “Of course. I built it.”

“Very well. Under one condition: You give me your word you will surrender rather than suffer permanent damage. I will not risk my plans for one man's pride.”

Oh, someone's very sure of their victory, isn't he?

“Sure,” Tony says, shows his teeth. “If you promise the same.”

Loki really is a master of that withering stare. Tony meets it head-on. 

Loki tosses his head, makes a dismissive gesture. “Very well. You have my word, Tony Stark, that I will surrender rather than suffer excessive damage.”

“And you have mine,” Tony returns. 

“Where and when do you wish to conduct this 'experiment'?” Loki's smirk makes it clear that he thinks Tony's asking to get his ass kicked. And, well. Maybe he is. Still. Surely he'll feel much better once his gauntleted fist has encountered that smirking mouth. 

“You got time today?” Because he sure won't have any in the week to come. 

Loki tilts his head like he has to think about it. “It could be arranged,” he allows. 

“Great,” Tony declares. “Say, four? That'll give us a few hours of daylight still.” He gives Loki directions to an isolated, abandoned Stark Industries property over in Pennsylvania, and Loki vanishes, armchair and all, with another mocking smile in Tony's direction. 

Tony groans, scrubs his hands through his hair again, and swings his legs to the floor. A shower, a nice big breakfast, and a half an hour's meditation to burn the fatigue toxins out of his body via Extremis and make sure he's in fighting shape, and he'll still have enough time to run full diagnostics on the suit before he heads out.

***

It feels good to step into his armour again. The fabric of his under-suit is smooth against his skin. This isn't an emergency suit-up, after all, or a PR stunt. No pinching seams or chafing wrinkles today. He'll be comfortable in high-tech, breathable, temperature-control fabrics– at least until Loki starts punching him. The familiar weight settles around him as the robot arms screw him into the pieces. Well. Actually, it feels lighter than usual, even with the power off. With his increasing strength, he's been able to strengthen the shell without compromising mobility, but it's a delicate balance between enough stiffness to withstand high-velocity impacts and enough malleability to prevent brittleness, and his current best formula, while heavier than before, is less so than what he's gained in strength. He'll see if he got it right, today.

Suited up, the power running, the HUD flickering to life, he shrugs his shoulders, feels the smooth response from the suit as pressure sensors translate the movement into the exo-skeleton components. He's used some of the data from Barnes' arm to improve response time and transmission speed, and, damn, but Hydra did some fine work there. Sure, they're talking fractions of seconds, but with his own improved reflexes, he can make use of it. 

“Alright, JARVIS, if you lose contact, wait half an hour before you call in the cavalry.”

“Are you sure that is wise, Sir?”

Tony grins fiercely inside the helmet. “Nope. Not wise at all. But, hey, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna take a couple hard hits– wouldn't want to cause people unnecessary alarm just 'cause something shorted out.”

He feels like a kid sneaking out to get illegally drunk– only he's never had to sneak, because his dad never paid enough attention to him to notice, and Jarvis... well, Jarvis would ask just that question in just that politely long-suffering tone, and then drive him to make sure he didn't end up under a bus or something. 

“As you say, Sir,” JARVIS relents and opens the outside shutter at the end of the workshop. 

Tony leans forward and engages the thrusters, instinct by now, and zips out into the sunny New York afternoon. God, it's good to be in the air again.

***

He takes ten minutes to just joy ride, push high through the clouds, wave to a passing plane and its staring, pointing, passengers, does a few loops and spins, laughs out loud at the whirl of sky and clouds and ground. He loves the suit, and maybe this is the part he loves most of all: the freedom of flight. No matter how many nightmares he has of falling, helplessly, down, down, down, it can't spoil this, not when he can feel the power under his feet, the faint hum of the repulsors in his palms.

He points himself north-west wards, and zooms off. Time to see if he can't lay some of those nightmares to rest.

***


	9. Chapter 9

At first glance, the compound seems deserted behind its chain link fence when he arrives. It's mostly a big, empty parking lot with one low building that's falling to pieces. It used to have something to do with logistics, he vaguely remembers, but they've long moved on to bigger and better-situated places. His boots echo across the empty concrete when he touches down. 

Then Loki steps around the corner of the building, silent as a cat. No more casual clothes, either. His green cloak sways around his boots as he strolls forward, the golden arm and shoulder-pieces catch the intermittent sunlight, and he carries that ridiculous helmet under one arm.

“Hey there,” Tony says, and Loki inclines his head in greeting. 

“Shall we start?” he asks, takes the helmet into both hands. 

Tony's almost giddy with how heavy his heart is beating– not _fast_ , it never does when he's about to fight, but stronger, harder. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, shifts his weight. Loki nods once, lips curling into one of those narrow smirks, and lifts the helmet. 

_Something_ hits Tony in the back, hard, and he whirls, repulsors charging, but there's nothing but empty parking lot behind him– and something smashes into his side, catches him off-balance and sends him stumbling, and another hit to his back has him down on his hands and one knee. He fires thrusters and repulsors, jumps, launches himself up into the air– not a moment too soon, because a boiling streak of green energy flashes past the place where he just was, and he follows it back to its source to catch just the briefest impression of golden horns and a green cloak before Loki's vanished again. 

The bastard is teleporting on him. Of course he is. 

Another green bolt hits his left boot, sends him spinning, cursing, for a moment before he catches himself– keeps moving, this time. 

“JARVIS!” he barks, as he loops and dodges in what he hopes is a random enough pattern to prevent Loki from getting another shot in. 

“I am analysing, Sir, however, the energy is of an unknown kind.”

“I don't need a break-down, just keep the sensors peeled for anything weird coming our way, okay?”

“Very well, Sir.” 

“Where _is_ he?” Tony grumbles, and then his HUD says “?” over a little incoming x-symbol, and he ducks the blast and returns fire with an arm rocket– sees a streak of green duck behind the corner of the building. Of course, by the time he swoops over the roof, there's nothing there. Well, except another blast aimed at his back from out in the middle of the parking lot. He fires, then dodges. It means he almost takes the hit in the face, but it also means he finally has Loki out in the open. He doesn't know what Loki needs to teleport, but he figures it takes at least a moment of concentration, and he'll be doing his damnedest to make sure Loki doesn't get it: He opens fire, goes all out. 

Concussions reverberate through the air as he covers Loki's position in a wide spread of things that go impressively boom. A cloud of dust rises, and when it clears, there's a sizeable crater in the parking lot, but no Loki. 

“Sir...!” Jarvis warns the same moment Tony's hover dibs and swerves with the sudden addition of a heavy weight on his back, and a gold-plated arm wraps around his neck– the gold's a little scorched he notices with satisfaction, even while he feels something like a punch just above his kidneys. 

The HUD flashes a warning at him, the scrape of metal fills his ears. 

Loki's trying to stab him in the back. Loki's _literally_ trying to stab him in the back, the same spot where his first magic hit landed. Bastard planned this. 

Tony rolls, swerves, tries to throw him off, but Loki only tightens his arm, hooks his legs around Tony's and rides it out, uses the momentum to drive the dagger into the seam between two pieces of plating again. 

“Integrity: 28%” flashes at Tony, and fuck, the bastard's strong. 

Loki mutters something Tony doesn't understand but has the sound of cursing, and pulls his arm back again, the sensors inform Tony. 

He has to get him off. 

Tony goes into a dive, bucking and wriggling to try and prevent Loki from stabbing him again, then, once he's about to hit the building, turns to smash Loki against the edge of the roof, scrape him off along the side of the building– or get him to let go, whichever happens first. 

What happens first is that Loki takes the hit against the roof, dagger poised at Tony's back, and the impact drives it deep before Loki lets go, falls at the foot of the wall in an ungainly heap while Tony lands hard on his hands and knees, cracking tarmac and raising a small cloud of dust. 

It doesn't hurt until he reaches back and rips the blade out. It's about seven inches long, viciously sharp, and dark with Tony's blood. He can feel more of it seeping into his under-suit, hot and sticky. He can also feel the heat where Extremis is busy healing him. It does nothing for the pain (one day he _will_ figure out how to turn off pain locally without making it feel like his whole body's fallen asleep at once), but he ignores that and the ache in his joints from the impact, pushes himself back up– finds Loki back on his feet as well. 

At least he's not smirking anymore. His hair is dishevelled, and from the way he has an arm wrapped around his middle, at least his ribs felt _that_. His eyes are narrow and calculating. 

Tony drops the dagger, lunges– Loki flickers out of existence at the very last moment, and Tony's fist punches clean through the wall instead. 

He whirls just in time to take a blast of crackling green fire to the chest. It throws him back against the wall and he groans as the impact jolts the knife wound. Loki doesn't give him time to recover, is on him, long daggers in both hands, ominous green flickering around their edges. 

Loki's a knife fighter. Tony hadn't realized. 

Back in New York, he'd had the sceptre, and he'd sure looked like he knew what he was doing, beating up people with it. Mostly, though, he'd used it to shoot people with. And, really, Tony would've figured him for a long-distance kind of fighter. Sure, sneak in and stab people in the back, but actual close combat, hand-to-hand? He wouldn't have thought it'd be Loki's style. 

It is, though. Oh, it is. 

Loki's fast, and ambidextrous, and vicious, and entirely comfortable getting in close and personal, Tony has occasion to find out. 

Those knives flash at him, look for some weakness to exploit, and his one advantage is that he's wearing full-body armour, and for all his strength and speed and magic, Loki's daggers can't penetrate it in one punch. Two'd do it, though. 

Tony twists, and blocks, blades screeching against his arm plating, sparks flying, long bright scratches in the paint, and he has to get some distance between them, he can't let Loki keep him pinned like this. 

He bats aside another attempt to stab him in the ribs, captures Loki's arm, pulls him in, and head-butts him, hard as he can. 

It works a treat. Loki staggers back, looks gratifyingly dazed, raises the back of a hand, dagger still in it, to his nose to catch a trickle of blood. 

Tony flips open the shoulder batteries and shoots him, launches himself back into the air. 

Loki flickers out of existence, appears a couple yards to the side, hands raised, daggers gone, green light growing around his fingers. Tony shoots, Loki vanishes, reappears, on his other side now, Tony shoots, Loki vanishes... Tony isn't even sure he's hitting him. He curses. This is a waste of ammunition, he needs to... 

As he's tracked Loki's whereabouts and aimed, he's stopped moving, has come to a hover a few yards above the ground. He realizes his mistake in the split-second before a hand grabs his ankle and _yanks_ , another wraps around his arm as he dips, sky and tarmac are all a whirl on the HUD, Loki still a blue-rimmed figure over _there_ , and that hand came out of nowhere, there was nothing there, and then he smashes face-first into the ground. 

Loki's kneeling on his back, and Tony makes to throw him off... only for the counter on the little panel that's informing him that he has 178 pounds of Asgardian on his back to flicker and change its mind. It's now 525 pounds, and he can feel the increased weight in how the suit is tight around his chest and back. 

Shit. Loki can increase his _mass_? What the hell is that all about?

“Give up,” Loki growls, and the optical sensors in the back show him pale, one side of his mouth and chin smeared with blood. He's lost the helmet somewhere, and there's a strand of hair stuck to his cheek. 

“Excuse me?!” Tony demands, bucks again, or tries to. Loki smashes his head back into the ground with a strong hand at the back of his helmet– and positions the other hand at his back again, dagger glinting wickedly in the sunlight. 

“I do not wish to kill you,” Loki grinds out. “But I _will_ stab you again.”

Tony quickly re-evaluates the last stab. Painful? Oh, hell yeah. Hospital-kind of serious for most people? Definitely. Fatal? No. Loki was trying to put him down, quick, efficient, non-lethal. 

Tony narrows his eyes. 

“I _said_ –” he flips his palms upwards, engages the back propulsor and the repulsors at the same time, hits Loki with the full blast of them, rips himself out from under him with a screech of metal on tarmac, “–don't go easy on me.”

He gets his feet under him, takes off, swings around and dives at Loki, who's flipping his cape out of the way, rolling to his feet. 

Tony pulls his fist back in-flight, socks him in the jaw with every ounce of Extremis strength, every bit of exoskeleton enhancement and every mile of acceleration he could get out of the short flight. 

Loki's five-hundred pounds go flying, smash into the wall of the building and clean through it. 

Tony kind of crash-lands, rolls, blasts himself upright again with the repulsors– and not a moment too soon. His arm is still tingling with the shock of impact when Loki's suddenly in front of him, bears down with his teeth bared and daggers raised. Tony yanks his arm up to block the strike– and passes right through Loki's form, which winks out in a flicker of green and gold. Instead, he catches movement from the side, swings– through empty air again. 

Illusions. Tony curses. Illusions, teleportation– fuck, Loki is a slippery bastard to fight. 

And he's been stationary too long again, because once more, something smashes into his back– right on the stab wound. Tony staggers forward, chokes as pain lances through him hot and cold and bright, tears open most of the healing that's happened. 

Loki's in front of him again, punches him in the side of the head. Not an illusion, this time, as it drives him down to his knees– only to encounter Loki's knee under his jaw. He's thrown backwards, rolls just in time to avoid a thrown dagger that sinks into the tarmac to the hilt, and he's just about got his feet under him when he's hit in the chest with a perfect round-house kick. He'd admire the execution of it, really, beautiful form, but he's too busy trying to convince his lungs to do their job again. 

He blasts off into flight, points both repulsors at Loki and fires– misses, as Loki vanishes once more. 

“Damn it!” Tony's breathing hard, and his jaw hurts, and his chest, and his back, and, “JARVIS! Gimme something! I need to track him!” 

“Insufficient data, Sir,” Jarvis replies. “Optical sensors cannot distinguish between illusory copies and Loki himself.” 

Down on the ground, Loki appears again, throws a dagger at him. Tony swerves to avoid it, glares at the figure. Real or illusion?

“They've no mass,” he thinks out loud. “They're just light, right?”

“Likely true, Sir, but without pressure sensors on the ground I cannot confirm.”

Damn. Of course. “Sonar would work,” he mutters. “JARVIS, note: install sonar. What else, what else...?” What is measurable about a body? “Oooh!” he says as he has an idea. “JARVIS, switch to infra-red.”

The world descends into shades of blue and green, while his regular view minimises down to the right corner of the HUD. 

And it _works_. He flicks a glance to the camera view, where Loki's standing, poised, daggers ready, studying him with narrowed eyes. There's nothing on the main display but empty blue, cold parking lot. 

Tony grins, fiercely, swings around, scans– there, a body-shaped splash of reds and oranges against the wall, by the corner, line of sight to the illusion (does Loki need line of sight? That'd be good to know). Nothing to see on the regular view– damn, but how does he do that? Must be some sort of manipulation of light, of photons... 

Tony points the repulsors, fires, catches a movement in the figure that might just be Loki staring at him in surprise before the blast hits. 

It creates a hot spot, so he backs up, hovers, scanning... there, on the roof, moving fast towards him. He fires another arm rocket, this time, ignores the shape he can see vaguely in the regular camera view. 

JARVIS beeps a warning, and Tony dodges in the air, smashes an elbow into Loki's middle for good measure as his fingers slip off the armour– like Tony's gonna fall for the same trick twice. He catches a glimpse of a venomous glare directed his way as Loki falls in a flutter of green cloak, then he vanishes mid-air, reappears just over the parking lot, rolls– and throws a dagger before he's even half-way back on his feet. Well, Tony thought it was a dagger, it was small and cold, but when it hits his boot, the thruster splutters and shorts out, and Tony tumbles from the sky while the HUD blinks “ice build-up” at him. What the hell?

Cursing and flailing, Tony just about manages to catch himself on his repulsors and his working boot before he face-plants into the tarmac. 

Loki's on him in a second, stomps a boot against his temple. Tony rolls, inverts his displays with a flick of his eyes as he gets to his feet, and Loki's charging him, drives a dagger into his shoulder to the hilt. Tony's left arm is suddenly so much dead weight and spots dance in his vision, he's swallowing bile. He also hauls off with his right, punches Loki in the face again for all he's worth. It drives Loki back a step, and he rips the dagger out, closes, punches Loki in the stomach. 

It gets vicious from there. Loki's face is a snarl, his eyes poisonous as he punches back, bare hands against Tony's armour, and it's the armour that dents, pushes deep bruises into Tony's stomach. Tony's clenching his own teeth, sweat drenching his face under the helmet, his breath echoing loudly in his ears as spots of heat bloom along his body, his shoulder an inferno of pain and heat. Loki tries to wrap a hand around his neck, rip the throat guard away, ducks another head-butt, lets go at least. Tony punches, feels the shock echoing up his arm– too much, too hard, the force of his increased strength meeting Loki's incredible mass too much for his tendons and ligaments, but he does it again, anyway– Loki catches his arm, squeezes his fingers tight until the metal groans– and suddenly his hand turns blue and the sensors shriek as Tony's hand feels like it's been plunged into a freezer, ice crusts along the armour, and the metal fractures like glass, ice-cold shards shred into him under Loki's merciless grip– and Loki punches him in the stomach again, and this time, something rips through the armour like tissue paper, buries itself cold and foreign in his middle. 

Tony chokes, coughs, tastes blood at the back of his throat. 

Loki lets him go as he staggers back, stares down to find a thin blade of blue ice sticking out of his stomach, angled up, under his ribs and the chest plate. 

And he's going into shock, okay, but no, he fucking _won't_ , and he pulls on every bit of control he has over Extremis to flood his system with adrenaline, to burn the numbing fog from his brain. 

It hurts, fuck, it hurts, it means he feels the foreign coldness of the ice-spear in his gut with every breath, feels how the tip shreds through his lungs with every movement but fuck _that_. 

Loki moves in, fast but casual, confident of his win. 

“Now will you finally...” and that's as far as he gets when Tony charges him with a roar, shoulder to chest, follows him down, elbow cocked to drive into his stomach with the impact on the ground. 

He nearly blacks out from the pain when it jolts the ice, too, feels his mouth flood with blood, thick and sweet and sickening. But he stomps his working boot down on one of Loki's arms, pins the other with his knee, clamps his left hand over Loki's mouth over the screaming protest of his shoulder, and charges up the repulsor in his right palm, aims it at Loki's head. 

“I win,” he declares, voice thick and wet with the blood in his mouth. Hands, mouth– that is what they did when they shipped him off to Asgard. No more Loki magic. Hopefully that means no more ice-spears. 

Loki _glares_. And Tony's pretty sure he does need his mouth and/or hands for the magic, 'cause if he didn't, there'd be a dozen ice-spears coming his way. 

“I _will_ shoot,” Tony tells him, and goes for full armament, arm rockets and shoulder batteries and chest reactor glowing with a charging uni beam. And at this range, that's gotta hurt even Loki. 

Loki keeps glaring, but, after a moment, gives a very minimal nod under Tony's hand. 

“You give up?” Tony demands, to make sure. There's blood dripping from his right arm, running along the jagged edges of the glove to inch along the repulsor. And crouching with a big fucking piece of ice in your stomach and lungs is not an experience Tony would recommend to anyone. 

Loki nods again. 

“Oh thank fucking God,” Tony groans and slumps off of him, to the side, snaps the faceplate up, and spits blood on the tarmac, coughs, retches a little, moans because that jolts the ice again. 

“You fool!” Loki hisses, crawls over and, huh, he moves like maybe he hurts, too. “Did I not say...?” 

Tony grabs the ice and rips it out, even as Loki shouts: “NO!” 

Loki kneels by his side as Tony throws up, demands: “What have you done?!” and doesn't seem to care that he's getting bile and vomit and blood on his clothes. 

“'ll be fine,” Tony slurs while he focuses on the lava-hot burn of his tissues knitting back together, and not passing out. Smart Extremis, programmed to heal life-threatening injuries first. Tony coughs again, grimaces at the taste of blood and ash in his mouth. He spits, not that it helps much. “Heal better without things sticking in me.”

Speaking off which... he rolls over onto his back, carefully. “JARVIS, disengage suit.” 

The plating retracts, mostly, and he frees his left arm, rolls his shoulder gingerly, pulls a face. It's not healed yet, but it was a straight, narrow stab, deep, yes, and it put his arm out of use for a bit when it severed kind of essential muscles, but all Extremis has to do is knit those back together– not much new material required, and that goes pretty fast. 

It'll do for now, anyway. He rips the rest of the armour off of his right arm. Loki's done a job on it, it's pretty much scrap. The glove part he can probably save, but anything between wrist and elbow is in bits– and some of them are still embedded in his arm. He starts picking them out, wincing at the nasty little jabs of pain. 

“For someone who wasn't trying to kill me you sure went near a couple major arteries,” he comments. “And organs,” he adds on consideration. 

Loki's still crouched on the other side of the puddle of blood and things on the floor, armoured forearms on his knees, hands folded between them. His eyes are narrow, but it's not so much of a glare anymore as... contemplation? 

“You wouldn't stay down,” he answers, then smirks. “If I _had_ been trying to kill you, you would not have survived the first five minutes of this fight.”

Tony snorts, smirks back. “Shoulda known you'd be a sore loser.”

Which is when it hits him: He _won_. 

He looks at the last piece of metal between his fingers, flexes his right hand while his entire arm feels on-fire, Extremis busily at work. He flicks the metal shard aside, slumps back into the suit, stares at the sky, feels himself starting to grin. 

And then he's laughing, laughing up at the blue sky and the big white and grey clouds and the spot-light rays of sunshine between them. 

He _won_. 

He whoops, loudly. “ _I_ am a _genius_!” he declares to the world at large, laughs some more, winces, chuckles, winces again, pushes up on his elbows, presses his hand to his stomach. “Ow. Ow. Okay, ow.” But he can't help another chuckle, pulls the torn, blood-stained fabric of his under-suit aside to reveal the thinnest layer of shiny, pink new skin over a hole that must've been about an inch in size either way. 

“What have you done?” 

Tony looks over to find Loki's eyes on his stomach as well before they flick up to meet his, and they're very sharp and very... _interested_. 

And, well. Maybe it wasn't the best tactical decision ever to reveal his little secret to _Loki_ of all people for the sake of revenge, but... But now he knows it _works_. He can tweak and fiddle and optimise and improve, but the foundation is sound. Because Loki's right: old Tony would've been out for the count after that first stab. New Tony... new Tony beat his ass. 

He smirks smugly at Loki. “Hardly gonna tell _you_ , am I? Suffice it to say I upgraded a little.” 

Loki watches him, still crouched there on his heels like he could stay like that forever, black leather tight across his legs, coat sweeping down to the ground around his hips, green cloak draped over his shoulders, pooling behind him. His hair curls around his shoulders, and all that black and green highlights his pale, narrow features. He's really kinda pretty when he doesn't try to kill you, Tony notices. The way he's staring at Tony like he's an interesting science experiment is sort of creepy, though. 

And then he cocks his head a fraction, and says: “You've stabilized Extremis, haven't you?”

And, whoa! Tony blinks, blinks again, says: “Er... wait, what? Why...? How do you even know about Extremis?” Okay, not smooth, Tony, and Loki's smirk tells him as much. 

He shrugs, all affected nonchalance. 

“The events of your Christmas holiday two years ago were very well publicised.”

“Like, what, you watch the _news_?” Tony demands. 

Loki gives him a condescending eyebrow. “I like to be informed about the events of any realm I find myself resident in. And information is one thing that is very easy to come by on your world.”

Tony's really not sure what to say to that, so for once, he keeps his mouth shut. 

“You need not confirm or deny,” Loki tells him with a patronizing little smirk. 

“And I won't,” Tony retorts with a glare. Fine, so that's pretty much an answer in itself, and they both know it. 

“I do assume you are not in danger of spontaneous combustion.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Do I look like an idiot to you? Yeah, no, don't answer that,” he adds at the _look_ Loki gives him. “No spontaneous combustion.”

Tony pushes to his feet, stretches carefully. He's still achy and healing, but he's functional again, so he picks up the boot Loki fried and a multi-tool from a little compartment he's engineered into the hip of the suit. One time stranded out in the middle of nowhere and in need of an 8-year-old's workshop was enough. 

Loki rises as well, arches an eyebrow at the boot. “You will be able to find your own way back?”

“Why, you offering me a lift?”

Loki shrugs. “In the interest of continued secrecy of this endeavour from my brother, yes, I am.”

Tony considers it, pulls the boot open. “Thanks, but I'll be fine. Nothing I can't fix in a few minutes.”

“Very well. I shall take my leave.”

“See ya,” Tony agrees, and wow, it's just weird to be talking to Loki like a person. 

Loki nods, and does his vanishing act. Tony considers for a moment, then picks up his helmet, wincing as he bends over, puts it on. 

“JARVIS, infra-red.” 

The parking lot is empty, and Tony takes the helmet off again, settles down on the ground to rewire his boot so he can fly the hell out of here. He's sweaty and sticky and just all around gross with gore and puke, and mostly he wants a hot shower and to brush his teeth, and then a drink and the biggest meal he can find. 

Still. He grins to himself as he plucks out bits of charred insulation. He _won_.

***

Loki steps into the bathroom, waves a hand to fill the tub, and inspects his face in the mirror. Stripped of the minor glamour, his eye is still black, the bridge of his nose swollen and his jaw puffy. He pokes at it, wriggles it back and forth, winces a little. Tony Stark hits much harder than any mortal has a right to. The bones are no longer broken, but the swelling will take at least another hour to go down. He dismisses his clothes, and as he thought, he's covered in bruises, and that last mad tackle broke the rib he cracked when Stark smashed him against the roof edge.

Fates, the man is _insane_. Stubbornness, Loki understands, pride, oh most certainly, but this... recklessness? 

Loki lowers himself into the hot water with a groan he can't quite suppress, sighs as the heat relaxes his muscles. 

He might have, possibly, lost his temper a little out there, when Stark _refused_ to stay down like a sensible person. Loki had not intended to injure him quite so gravely– as a matter of fact, he had gone out of his way to injure him as little as possible. Mortals are so very fragile, after all. And he has no use for an ally who needs to spend the next six months under the care of what passes for healers on Midgard. 

The stab wound, carefully aimed as it was, he knows he could have healed. The chunk of ice he conjured into Stark's stomach in a fit of annoyance... The moment he did it, he knew this was beyond his own mediocre talents in the healing arts, and he started to plan who he could possibly take Stark to without tipping Thor off. Still, he had not realized the seriousness of the wound, not with the way Stark kept moving despite it. 

He sets his head back against the edge of the tub. Mortals. It is so hard to estimate how much damage they can take. 

But should he ever need to, he will certainly not underestimate Stark's resilience again. Or the power of his damnable ammunitions. 

He makes a note to find out how Stark circumvented his illusions at the end, and settles down in the hot water in a doze as his body heals itself.

***


	10. Chapter 10

It's Wednesday evening, and Tony's decided to forgo his workshop in favour of being social– by which he means he's sprawled out with a large glass of very nice Scotch on a couch in what is now the common living room of Avenger's tower. Nat and Clint are on another couch kitty-corner to his, Clint playing some video game with Nat's feet in his lap while she scrolls through S.H.I.E.L.D. data on a Starkpad. Over by the bar, Darcy's trying to teach Thor and Ian how to play poker. 

Senate proceedings were called to a halt early today– to say things did not go well would be an understatement. Tony's seriously considering calling Loki up for another grudge match. Being stabbed in the stomach with the magic icicle of doom was way more fun than yelling at a room full of politicians. But maybe he should just ask Nat for a sparring session instead.

He hears the efficient 'click-clack' of sensible pumps coming down the hall that he's expected since he got home, then Pepper's voice from the doorway: “Tony?”

He raises the hand with the glass over the back of the couch, waves it, ice cubes clinking. “Here.”

She comes around the couch, frowns a little at him. He raises his eyebrows, takes a drink.

“Can I talk to you?” she asks in her 'serious business' voice. 

“Sure,” he agrees, gestures at the sofa next to himself. “Have a seat.”

Her eyebrows rise. “Here?”

He sighs, tips his head back. “I'm not moving. I like this spot. It's comfortable.”

“Fine.” She takes a seat, neatly brushing her skirt under herself, arm around a stack of legal pad and Starkpad and print-outs.

“Gang, Pepper,” Tony introduces without moving more than his head and his hand in a vague wave. “Pep, you've met Natasha. Clint, Darcy, Ian, Thor.”

There's various waves and noises of acknowledgement from around the room while Pepper nods, says, “Nice to meet you all.” Then she turns back to Tony. “About today...”

He groans. 

“Senator Wilkinson's demanding an official apology from you.”

“He started it,” Tony says promptly. “Wait, which one's that?” They all kind of look the same, don't they? 

“You called him an egotistical son of a bitch with the IQ of a rock.” 

“Ah,” Tony says. He thinks he vaguely remembers that. Also, not one of his better insults, really. 

“You also said you felt sorry for his wife and for her to call you if she wanted to find out what it was like to be with a man whose... well, I won't repeat the rest here.”

“Ah.” Now Tony remembers. He smirks, takes another sip of his drink, savours it. The words “equipment” “larger than” and “pencil” had been involved. 

“That one was fun,” Nat comments from the other couch, and Clint snickers. 

Pepper gives them a disapproving look. “Please don't encourage him.”

Nat merely shrugs, while Clint salutes her with his controller. “Yes, Ma'am.”

Pepper sighs, turns back to Tony. “Anyway, he demands an apology by tomorrow. Here's your script.” 

He eyes the piece of paper she's holding out to him with distaste. 

“I know you don't like this, but these hearings would go far quicker if you weren't being quite so... _you_ ,” she points out. 

Tony snorts. “Right.”

“Tony,” she says and he looks over, realizes that she doesn't look much better than him, drawn and exhausted. “Please.”

God, he's an ass. Here he is, feeling sorry for himself for having to stand up in front of those morons and talk to them, when Pepper does all the actual work, prepares the statements he ignores, cleans up his messes after, keeps the board off his back... when really, she has a company to run.

He sighs in defeat. “Fine, alright. I'll behave. Gimme that.” He flicks his eyes over the apology, grimaces. Yeah, he'll read it, but he doesn't have to like it. 

“I've emailed you your schedule for tomorrow. You're meeting with your lawyers at 8 in the small meeting room, please don't be late. We've scheduled the press for nine thirty, then the hearings continue at eleven. Here's tomorrow's agenda, your brief on possibly applicable laws...” 

He pushes up from his slouch far enough to take the stack of papers and electronics from her hands, leans over to put them on the coffee table. 

“Yeah, enough of that for tonight. I'll look it over in the morning. You want a drink?”

“No, I...”

He raises his eyebrows at her, and she sighs, runs a hand over her hair. “Yes, yes I do, actually.”

He grins, pushes to his feet. 

“Just a small one!” she calls over the back of the couch while he makes his way to the bar. 

He mixes her something light and fruity, takes a look around the room. 

“Anyone else?”

“Beer!” Clint calls from his couch and Thor looks up from his cards to nod gravely in agreement. 

“I'll have one of whatever that is,” Darcy says, points at Pepper's drink. 

Tony raises an eyebrow at Ian. “Anything?”

“Um. You have any cider?” 

“Sure. Nat? Vodka?” 

“Yeah, okay,” she says even while she flips him off. 

“So we should do something,” Tony says while he gathers bottles out of the bar fridge and pours drinks. “Watch a movie. We should totally watch a movie.”

“Avengers movie night! Cool!” Darcy declares. “Do we have popcorn? You have everything, I'm sure you have popcorn.”

Tony grins. “Of course I have popcorn.” 

Clint's saving his game, and Nat doesn't protest, while Thor looks politely interested. But Pepper makes as if to rise, Tony sees over the back of the couch. “I should really...”

“Nuh-uh,” Tony says, passes the drinks to those at the bar, grabs the rest. “Night off,” he says as he hands her hers. “Relax. Remember the moment?”

At that, she smiles a bit. “All twelve percent of it.”

He groans, rolls his eyes. “I won't live that one down, will I?”

Her smile widens, and she takes a sip of her drink. “Probably not, no.”

He hands out the rest of the drinks, tells Clint “Don't ask,” then claps his hands together. “So, what are we watching? Oh, JARVIS, tell Bruce and Jane we're watching a movie, ask if they wanna come up, will you.”

“Of course, Sir. Miss Darcy, you will find the popcorn in the second cupboard to your left, middle shelf.”

“Thanks, JAR!” Darcy pipes, and Tony thinks he hears her sigh: “So cool...”

“You're most welcome,” Jarvis replies. “Dr Foster is on her way up. Dr Banner prefers to continue his work in the lab.”

Tony can't say he's surprised. Bruce is kind of a shy guy, and he doesn't think it's all due to his big green anger management issues.

***

They end up watching, of all things, The Wizard of Oz. Darcy claimed it'd be culturally relevant for Thor, and since all Tony wants to do is relax and turn his brain off, he's fine with that.

Nat keeps scrolling through her pad, but stops every now and then to watch, while Clint settles his hands on her feet and gives her a foot massage while he watches and sips his beer. Darcy has pulled Ian to the floor with a couple of sofa cushions on the thick rug, coffee table pushed to the side, and happily uses him as a pillow while she watches and munches popcorn. Ian doesn't look like he minds, especially not when she feeds him popcorn in turn. 

Thor and Jane have possession of the third couch, and Tony watches in amusement as they slowly inch closer and closer together as the movie progresses until Jane's cuddled against Thor's side, his large hand on her shoulder. 

He slings his own arm over Pepper's shoulder. She shoots him a look, and he shrugs. No, he doesn't believe he's getting laid tonight, and honestly, he's not even sure if he's not too tired for sex (probably not, but, y'know... _almost_ ) but surely that doesn't mean they can't get comfortable. He leans over, presses a short kiss against her temple. 

Tomorrow, he's going to go back out into the world and be a good little public figure. He's going to read his briefs, and he's going to give his apology, and he's going to try not to aggravate people on purpose even if they're stupid, and maybe it'll turn out Pepper's right (after all, she usually is) and this nightmare will be over the faster for it. 

For tonight, it's nice to just watch a silly old movie.

***

And he does behave himself for the rest of the week. He manages to read his apology with such abject sincerity that Senator Wilkinson glares absolute murder at him but can't actually complain, and then he spends the next two days answering any question by reading his prepared statements. Word for word. Same question, same answer. It's not quite as much fun as letting his tongue and temper have free reign, but it does a lot to share his general frustration with everything and everyone around.

Well. Pepper doesn't seem to think that constitutes “behaving”, but she knows to pick her battles with him. 

By Friday afternoon, though, he's had it. 

“Gentlemen. And ladies,” he adds with a tilt of his head to the only woman present on the committee. “I've given you two weeks of my life that I'll never get back. I've answered all your questions three times over. Now, if there's anything further, you're welcome to submit your queries to my office in writing, and I'll get back to you within, say, the next six to eight weeks. Now while I can understand if you'd like to see me again in person next week, I mean, I'm _me_ , I'm afraid I'm a busy man, and I'll have to start charging you for my time.”

It's genius, really. He's checked with his lawyers. He can actually do that– or, at least, he can make enough of a case for it to drag everyone into a lengthy court battle no one wants. 

So he has enough ground to stand on to get his life back, and make sure they only call him in for when they absolutely need to. 

Saturday, he's back in the workshop, rock music on loud as he hums along, holo screens up around him, and he can finally review the fight with Loki, start throwing out specs on how to integrate sonar into the suit and, while he's at it, the tower. He also orders a security upgrade for infra-red for the tower, to be installed the next day. 

There's the glove to be fixed, and he needs to start thinking about new materials if he ever wants the suit space-worthy, since Loki's little magic touch isn't nearly as cold as space, and if it can't stand up to that, there's no way he can take it for a joyride around the moon. (And, yeah, he's totally gonna go joyriding around the moon one of these days). 

He's just about to call Nat and ask her if she's up for an hour's sparring before lunch when JARVIS says “Sir,” and a new holo screen pops up, flashing red, and approximately half a second later, Bruce calls him. 

“Yeah, I see it,” Tony tells him. “JARVIS, tell everyone: meeting room, _now_. Keep tracking.”

“Of course, Sir.” 

Tony's already out of his chair, jogging for the elevator. 

Mere minutes later, everyone's converging in the meeting room even while Tony already throws up holo screens and scans the data. Bruce makes a bee-line to his side, and Tony acknowledges him with a look– then blinks when he catches sight of Nat and Clint over Bruce's shoulder. Nat's smoothing down unusually ruffled red hair and hitching up the strap of a black tank top. Clint's in the process of pulling on a t-shirt. 

Tony dismisses it, turns back to the data. He's hardly one to begrudge others their sexy-times. 

Everyone takes their seats, while Bruce and Tony shoot each other data across screens and point out significant read-out spikes. It is such a pleasure to work with someone who's on the same wave-length. 

“Is that...?” Jane asks, and Tony nods, turns his attention to the expectant faces around him. 

“We've a possible hit on the Sceptre. It's faint, could be a false alarm. Or it could be that Hydra's removed it from its previous shielded location and it's in transit, in which case this might be our best chance at it. In any case, speed is of the essence, which is why I say Thor and I go check it out, Bruce, you hold down the fort, man the sensors, keep us updated. Nat and Clint... We've got to get the team more mobile. Can you get me some quinjet specs, blue prints, stuff like that?”

Nat shrugs. “Maybe. I'll see what I can do.”

“Wonder if anyone cleaned out all the S.H.I.E.L.D. hangars and back-up locations?” Clint muses. “Could go check 'em out, see what we find.”

Tony nods. “Okay, but Thor and I gotta move on this _now_ , so if you're heading out, don't get in trouble.”

Nat gives him the raised eyebrow of 'look who's talking', and he rolls his eyes at her, then rises. 

He heads out the door and gets himself suited up while Thor kisses Jane good-bye (she blushes– Christ, they're cute), then joins him on the pad, changes from jeans and flannel shirt to armour and red cloak in the blink of an eye. 

“Lead the way, friend Tony,” he says. 

HUD up and Bruce's voice in his ear, Tony takes off– for eastern Europe, according to the data. He tries to call Steve as they streak out over the Atlantic, but his phone goes right to voice mail. 

Too bad. Chances are, he would've been able to intercept sooner than Thor and Tony can– they have to fly half-way around the world, after all. Even at their speed, that's going to take a few hours, and their target (if it is indeed the Sceptre) can vanish again at any moment.

***

In the end, they miss it by half an hour. Steve's still not answering his phone, and Tony's cursing, circling the last known location somewhere over the empty countryside where Belarus, Latvia and Russia meet. Whatever it was, it's been transported by something terrestrial and the speed suggests a truck or something. But the single road he can see winding through the forests and over the rivers is empty as far as the eye can see. There's nothing down there but trees– no farms, no villages, not even a military border control post of some sort. It doesn't help that dusk is rapidly falling in this part of the world. Nothing to investigate unless he wants to comb miles of forest up close and personal. He'll have to think of something else.

“Yeah, we lost it,” he informs everyone. “Let's backtrack,” he tells Thor, who's hovering next to him. “Maybe we can find out where it came from, find some sort of clue there.” Also, get out of here before the Russians start bitching about violation of their airspace– or Doom hears they're in the neighbourhood and decides to pay a visit.

***

The trail of faint radiation signatures leads them back to some fly-speck little country by the name of Sokovia that Tony's never heard of. And he can tell exactly where it ends (or, more accurately, began) some twenty minutes before they arrive: There's a huge, black plume of smoke rising high, high into the sky, blocking out the stars, lit red and orange from below. It towers above them, roiling and demonic.

“Shit,” Tony says. Whatever was down there, someone's made sure there's nothing much left of it. 

“Check it out?” he asks Thor. 

Thor inclines his head. “As we're already here, let us see what there is left to see.”

What there is left to see, at the foot of the tower of smoke, is a large, blackened crater of ground in which the fire still rages, red-hot, sparks flying off into the night. Tony means to feel the heat even through his suit, like a giant, hot hand pressing against him, eddies of wind gusting past them, sucked into the inferno. The blackened skeletons of a few buildings hang around the circumference of the crater. This will take hours to burn itself out. 

He turns to Thor, and there's a streak of _something_ , and Thor goes flying. Before Tony has time to so much as form a thought more coherent than: huh?, something hits him as well, something blurry with speed, and he's airborne, crashes into a near-by copse of singed trees, trunks splintering, leaves and broken branches a flurry around him. 

He swipes them off himself, launches himself into flight, scans the dark landscape for whoever or whatever attacked them. The combination of flickering firelight and darkness doesn't help things, but the HUD picks out structures in blue outline. 

A rumbling crackle from above, and a flurry of lighting bolts hammers into the ground off to the side. Tony looks up, sees Thor hovering, Mjolnir whirling, and there, there's a blur on the ground– a blur that suddenly stops, and is actually a man, tall and very blond. Handsome, too, except for the way he's scowling up at Thor. 

Thor sends another lighting bolt his way, but he's just suddenly yards away. 

There's a crackle of twigs and leaves behind him, and Tony whirls, repulsors pointed. 

A girl steps out from between the jumble of fallen trees where he went down and he hesitates. She's cute, tall and slender, long brown hair, but her eyes are unfriendly, and he knows he should've fired, but it's too late– she gestures, and the air in front of him rips open, a yawning black nothingness, limned in purple fire, and swallows him up.


	11. Chapter 11

He wakes up– well, not wakes up, he wasn't asleep, or unconscious, he doesn't think, he was just kind of... _not there_ for... a second? A minute? An hour? He can't tell. Anyway, he was _there_ , at the fire, with the girl, and now he's _here_ , wherever _here_ is. 

“JARVIS?” he asks as he looks around. It's pitch-dark, the only light that which his suit is giving off. “Where are we?”

“I do not know, Sir,” JARVIS answers, and Tony wouldn't admit it, but he's relieved to hear that at least his AI is still with him. “I have lost all contact with outside sources, including my servers and any GPS satellites.” 

“That's... just great.” 

The floor he's hovering above looks like rock. So does the ceiling, and the walls to his left and right. It's a cave? A tunnel?

“Give me whatever data you have,” Tony says, and starts off in one direction. 

JARVIS throws him a compass onto the HUD, so at least that still works, and feeds him what the sensors can pick up: It's cold and damp outside the suit, but the air's okay. JARVIS also gives him the time and date, and according to the suit's internal systems, he hasn't been out long, if he was out at all– it's still the middle of the afternoon back in New York. 

He flies along at a good clip for a few minutes before the tunnel starts to curve downwards. Tony follows it along, notes how clean it is. No sign of recent instability, thank God. 

It's disorienting, the darkness, the sameness, the way he can only tell when the tunnel veers one way or another by the swing of the virtual compass needle in his display. 

JARVIS tries all possible frequencies, but wherever they are, they're well and truly cut off. Tony wonders how deep they are. For that matter... are they even still on Earth? He'd assume so, but... what does he know? God, he hates magic. 

He keeps going for another few minutes, down, down, sometimes around a curve but always down, and it takes the temperature gauge flashing at him before he realizes its rising. 

It keeps rising, and then a dull glow lights the walls, makes long shadows of the ripples in the stone. 

Tony rounds a last corner, and, wow. For a moment, he just hovers, stunned. 

Before him, the rock drops away, far, far down, and curves off to the left and the right as he hovers at the entrance to an enormous cavern, so wide he can't see the opposite side, because it's filled with a river of lava, its orange glow everywhere. Pillars of rock stand here and there, give the space the feeling of a massive, hellish cathedral. 

The heat is incredible, far too high for the suit to withstand for any length of time. Even if there were an exit somewhere around the circumference of the cavern, Tony couldn't cross this without getting roasted. 

“Okay, dead end,” he remarks, turns, flies back the way he came. 

Christ, what if there isn't an exit? What if there's just tons and tons and tons of rock on top of him, and nothing but dark tunnels underneath, leading nowhere?

He hears his breath hitch, shivers, feels cool sweat on his brow. 

No, he tells himself. No, there'll be an exit. There's fresh air. That lava back there would burn up all the oxygen if there weren't a supply of fresh air coming in. And if air's coming in, he can get out. He has enough fire-power in the suit to level a mountain or two– he can blast his way out if he has to. 

Thank God for his suit, anyway– between his speed and the sensors, JARVIS can map wherever he's been, 3D and all, gives him a little model at the bottom corner of the HUD. Tony feels like he's in some dungeon-crawler video game, but at least he knows exactly when he passes the point where he's started. Never in a million years could he have recognized the spot otherwise, unless he'd left a mark there of some sort. So far, there've been no junctions in the tunnel, but when the time comes, at least he won't end up wandering in circles in the dark for eternity. He shudders a bit, tells himself to stop thinking about it. He's fine. He has the suit, and it's working, and it will keep working for a long time, bless the arc reactor. This is nothing at all like any of his nightmares. Nope. 

This time, the tunnel soon slants upwards, and keeps going up. Tony'd be more optimistic though if it didn't also keep going back in the direction of the lava chamber. By twists and turns and detours, yes, but it inexorably drifts back the way he came. But then, maybe he'll get out above the chamber. 

He rounds another corner, silhouetted by dull, reddish light, and freezes. 

The tunnel he's been in opens out into another chamber– not a lava chamber, this time, and not as large. Large enough, though, and in it, about the size of a house... 

“JARVIS? Tell me you're seeing what I'm seeing.”

“It appears to be a dragon, Sir,” JARVIS says, unruffled. 

Yeah. It _appears_ to be a dragon. 

Tony wishes _he_ were unruffled. But then he's not an AI. And while JARVIS is plenty capable of being bitchy and sassy when Tony makes his life difficult by acting against JARVIS' parameters to take care of him, Tony hasn't programmed him with 'when faced with impossible mythological creature, freak out.' Funnily enough, it never occurred to him. 

“Um, JARVIS? You got any explanation for this?”

“All available data, such as it is, would suggest that this is indeed a dragon, Sir.”

Well. It's big alright, even curled up on the floor, and scaly, and it seems to have four legs and a pair of wings, and a long tail and a narrow, pointed, reptilian head, and horns and spikes and claws. It's belly, throat and the inside of the legs are golden in colour, shading into red at its side, deepening across the back to darkest burgundy. The horns and spikes and claws are black. 

It's kind of pretty, actually.

Also impossible. 

Also _asleep_ , by the looks of it, and Tony decides to postpone his 'omg a dragon' freak out until after he's out of here. 

There's more of the cave curving away towards where he thinks the lava chamber must be, but he can see another, smaller tunnel opening at the opposite side. It's a risk, but... according to JARVIS' map, he's probably not high enough to be above the lava chamber, not by much, anyway. 

He takes a deep breath. Okay, time to try for door number 2. Past the sleeping dragon. Christ, when did this become his _life_?

He inches out into the chamber, keeps as close to the wall, and as far from the dragon as he can, then leans forward, zooms for the exit– and why has he never followed up on that stealth mode? This is the last time he doesn't listen to an eight-year old. 

The exit comes closer, and closer, a large black arch of stone, while Tony passes a mountain of scaly flesh on his left– not nearly as far away as he'd like it to be. 

He's nearly there, nearly, when a red-and-gold blur lashes towards him, catches him in the chest, sends him crashing into the wall– the dragon's tail, sudden and out of nowhere. And before he can move, the dragon's on him in a sinuous pounce, a clawed foot pinning him down, the dragon's head looming over him, eyes slitted and golden and not asleep at all. 

Tony fires. He fires everything that will engage, mostly shoulder batteries and arm rockets. The dragon's head is wreathed in smoke. 

It sneezes. And the foot on Tony's chest doesn't move an inch. It lowers its head through the dissipating smoke, tendrils rising from along its pointed muzzle, and there's not a scratch on it. It sniffs at Tony. 

This time, he takes a moment to aim for one large, golden eye before he fires (God, this thing is _huge_ , its head is larger than Tony!). Tony sees the rocket hit before it explodes. 

The dragon blinks. 

That's all it freaking does, it _blinks_. Then it takes its foot off of Tony's chest. 

Tony zips up into the air, and the dragon snaps him up so fast he doesn't even see it coming. Pointed ivory teeth the length of his underarm close almost delicately around him. He flails, struggles, fires into the dragon's mouth with the arm that's trapped inside there. Any moment, he expects the crushing pressure and piercing pain of those teeth spearing him through the suit.

The dragon ignores it, turns, pads down the cavern with Tony in its mouth. Tony tries to kick, tries to pry the teeth away from his chest, shoots his repulsors against them, against the dragon's black gums, against its pointed reptilian nose– nothing. 

He tries yelling. He tries the uni beam, point-blank into the dragon's mouth. The dragon takes as much notice of it as Tony would of a fly. 

Tony notices vaguely that it's getting steadily lighter and warmer again. He's still trying to pry himself out of the steel trap of the dragon's teeth when it dips its head and drops him. 

He lands hard, with a clinking, clattering sound, and sits up in... a pile of gold. Gold coins, gold bars, necklaces and jewellery– he's sitting in a pile of treasure. He shoots to his feet, ready to be the worst-behaved dragon meal in history– but the dragon's stretching itself out across the entrance to the cavern they're in, between the treasure and the tunnel that brought them here. It sets its head onto its crossed front paws, and closes its eyes. 

Tony stares at it for a few moments, but it doesn't do anything else. 

So he takes a look around instead. 

He's in a circular kind of space, generous enough in size that the dragon can probably spread its wings and still turn around. The treasure is a sprawling heap in the middle of it. The heat and light come from the back wall, which seems to open up into a chute that probably reaches into the lava chamber. 

Okay. He's not dragon chow. He can deal with this. Sneak off when the dragon's actually asleep. Find a way to kill it, or at least injure it enough to drive it off. Yeah, he's gonna be fine. Tony Stark, dragon-slayer. Has a nice ring to it, actually.

***

“What's going on?” Pepper demands as she enters what was once Tony's living room in the tower, and is now the meeting room and something like the HQ of Avenger's Tower. “Where's Tony?”

She's tried calling him for the past several hours, and really, the fact that she's only gotten his voice mail hadn't worried her until she'd decided to drop by the Tower in person and JARVIS had told her that Tony's whereabouts were “unknown”. 

She's not at all reassured by the worried faces of the assembled Avengers that turn towards her. Drs Banner and Foster are busy on three separate holo screens, while Natasha has her arms crossed on the table, is leaning forward to watch them. 

Thor's in full regalia, cloak and all, and is tapping his fingers against his hammer's head where he's put it on the table. He ducks his head when he meets her eyes. 

Natasha rises, steps around the table. “Pepper...”

Pepper crosses her arms, narrows her eyes at all of them. “Tell me where Tony is.”

“We don't know,” Natasha says as she steers Pepper to one of the couches. 

Pepper lets herself be herded, but demands: “What do you mean, you don't know? What happened?”

“I'm afraid the fault is mine,” Thor rumbles.

“No, it's not,” Natasha snaps at him. “Stop that.”

“I was his companion in battle. It was my duty to watch his back, and I failed.”

“You were ambushed. It happens.”

“What the hell happened?!” Pepper interrupts. She feels her breath coming fast, clenches her hands. They're talking like... No. No, Tony has to be fine. He _has_ to be. It can't be as bad as it sounds.

Natasha turns to her, rests a hand on her shoulder. “I'm sorry, Pepper. Tony and Thor were out checking on something, and they were attacked. We don't know by who, yet, but Tony was swallowed by some kind of portal. We're looking for him now.”

“What? A portal? What kind of portal?” This... this is exactly why Pepper's not a fan of the whole super-hero thing. 

“'T was sorcery,” Thor says with authority. “I know well the look of it. Friend Bruce, can the machine determine where the witch sent him?”

Pepper blinks, then blinks again. Did Thor just say 'sorcery'?

“I'm afraid I cannot,” says JARVIS. “Wherever Mr Stark is, he is removed from all data sources I can access.”

“Yeah, JARVIS is right,” Bruce says. “The suit's systems aren't connecting to any uplink, and I'm scanning for the radiation signature from the site where he disappeared, but I'm not picking it up anywhere else on the planet, and there's no radiation trail or anything to follow.”

Pepper presses a hand to her mouth, forces herself to keep breathing. Tony's come out of situations worse than this. 

It's just... it's so _sudden_. It's like that time when he vanished in Afghanistan– one moment everything's fine and then he's just suddenly _gone_. 

This is what she's afraid of, every time he puts on that suit, every time he throws himself into danger– the uncertainty of it. What if one day he doesn't come back? What if that day is today? 

“Then I will call my brother,” Thor announces, pulls out a cell phone from... somewhere on his belt? Pepper's trying to figure out where it came from, and so it takes her a moment to realize what he said. His brother– isn't that Loki? And isn't he dead? Does Thor have another brother?

Natasha, still seated by Pepper's side, turns to throw a sharp look in Thor's direction. “Are you sure that's... necessary?” 

“To deal with a matter of sorcery requires a sorcerer. As we do not know where the spell sent Tony, or how much danger he might be in, I believe it is prudent that we move with all available speed.” 

He looks around, and while no one looks happy, no one objects again, either. 

Thor gives a short nod, presses a button on his phone. 

“It is me,” he says after only a moment. And, wow, it's so weird seeing Thor use a cell phone like a regular person. “There is an urgent situation requiring your attention. Please contact us as soon as possible.” 

And with that entirely vague message, he hangs up. 

Pepper turns to Natasha. Natasha catches her eyes, nods briefly, one corner of her lips curling into a humour-less half-smile. 

“Yes. We're working with Loki. No, he's not dead.”

“But...! He nearly killed Tony before! And you're calling him for _help_?”

“I know,” Natasha says grimly. 

Pepper takes a shaky breath. That tells her more about how bad the situation is than she wanted to know. God, Tony has to be okay. He _has_ to be.

***

The next two days are hell. All she really wants to do is stay in the Tower, stay where she'll know immediately if there's news. But she can't. She has a company to run, and there's no point in causing an unnecessary panic if Tony might show up again in a day or two. Or so she tells herself. She really just doesn't want to admit that he might _not_ turn up.

But he's done this before. It's happened before. Afghanistan, the Mandarin attack– he's always been fine. He's saved himself. 

Natasha's promised her to call her the minute she knows anything, and Pepper spends her nights at the Tower– in her own bed there, not his. 

God, it's like Afghanistan all over, but _worse_. He was her boss, then, her friend, too, but still. They are so much closer these days.

She remembers the first time she'd felt the flushed, nervous flutter of attraction for Tony, that fire-fighters' benefit two years ago. Oh, she'd always been aware that Tony was good-looking– really, how could she not? But he was her boss, then, and she'd known him for so many years– knew how many women (and the occasional man) he slept with, how casual he treated sex. Oh, she'd liked him. She'd always believed that he meant well, that he cared for those people he considered friends. But that didn't make her blind to his faults: the drinking, the narcissism, the callous disregard for other people he could show without even noticing, the pride and stubbornness. And she could handle that in an employer, even in a friend– but in a lover? She'd never thought she would want to. 

Until that evening when Tony looked at her like he'd never done before, with those smouldering bedroom eyes, his hand warm at her back– warm fingers against her naked back. She remembers the scent of his cologne, the expensive fabric of his jacket under her sweaty palm, in her restless grasp. Suddenly, she felt what a hundred other women must've felt when Tony Stark looked at them like he wanted to eat them up: that shivery heat of desire. 

God, she wants him back. She wants him back cocky and exasperating, flirty and brilliant and real. 

One day turns into two, turns into three, and there's no sign of him. In addition, no one's heard from Steve or Sam despite the amount of messages left for them. No one says so, but a bad feeling spreads throughout the Tower. Only Darcy stays stoically optimistic. Pepper can't quite decide whether she's immensely grateful or completely annoyed by it. 

The only good news comes when Natasha and Agent Barton return on the second day from, Pepper gathers, a raid on a former S.H.I.E.L.D./now Hydra facility with a quinjet and a veritable arsenal of weapons. 

By lunch the third day, four people have commented on how exhausted she looks, and Pepper's seriously considering taking the rest of the day off. Quarterly earnings reports are due soon, and she finds herself thinking about how exactly she's going to present the news to the board if Tony's not there for the meeting. She pushes the papers away from her on the desk, rubs a hand over her face, presses her fingers into the corners of her eyes. Then she jumps as her phone hums discreetly. She fumbles it out, and it's a message from Natasha: 

He's gotten back to us, evaluating options now. Will keep you updated.

Loki. Loki's actually answered the call (why only now? Why not sooner?... Why at all?) and... maybe he can... help. She swallows a hysterical giggle. Putting their hopes in Loki– they must be insane. She still doesn't know the entirety of that story, doesn't know if she wants to. All she knows is that Tony's involved, that he knows about it, that Thor believes his brother's no threat, and that whatever it is, it's tremendously secret. 

She takes a deep breath, then gathers her purse and her coat. She'll be useless in the office anyway.

***

Darcy strolls into the meeting room. Truthfully, it's a bit doom and gloom at Avenger's Tower at the moment, what with Tony missing and Steve incommunicado. And it's not that she's not aware that bad stuff could've happened to them, it's just that she doesn't see the point in worrying before she has a definite reason to. It's Iron Man and Captain America– they're pretty tough. She's the first, since she was just down the hall in the kitchen when JARVIS called. Well, except for the guy standing by the bar.

Darcy cocks her head. Long dark hair, very tall, green eyes. 

“Hey, you're Loki, right?” 

He tilts his head, nods. “I am indeed.”

She answers the nod as she steps up to him. “So, you planning to take over the world? Like, again?”

The corners of his lips twitch in an aborted smile. “Not at present,” he tells her, voice dry. 

“That's cool, then,” she says, holds out her hand. “I'm Darcy.”

He takes her hand, shakes it. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Darcy.”

“You too. You're much prettier than I thought.”

Again that almost-smile. “Indeed?”

She nods. “Yeah, you know, super-villains.” She pulls a face, waves a hand. “They're all a bit... freaky. I mean, have you seen Doom? You can't even tell him from his own robots. What a weirdo.”

This time, she actually gets a brief grin. “Ah. But then, I have no more aspirations to villainy. I am a reformed man.” 

He gives her a comically sincere look, eyebrows high, and she grins back. “Suuuure,” she drawls, and he laughs. He has a nice laugh. 

“What is this urgent matter, then, that requires my presence?” 

“Tony's missing,” she tells him, makes a vague motion with a hand. “There was kind of a magic thingy, so Thor said you could help. So, is magic, like, really real?” 

“It certainly is,” he confirms. 

“That is so cool,” she sighs. 

The others are starting to arrive, and Thor steps up to them, nods at Loki. 

“Brother. I am glad you have come.”

“Brother,” Loki returns. “I hear Tony Stark is missing?”

“He is,” Thor confirms, waves at the table. “Let me show you the recording of what transpired.”

Darcy's seen that often enough, so she watches Loki instead. He really is rather pretty– Thor's pretty-boy baby brother. And she can see it in the way they turn to each other, the way there's, like, no space between them where they stand at the table, shoulders touching. 

Jane comes to stand next to her, shoots her a quick look. 

“You okay?” she asks quietly. 

Darcy shrugs. “Sure. He seems cool.”

Jane watches Loki herself for a moment. “He saved my life last year.” Then she glances at Darcy again. “He also really convincingly pretended to betray Thor– and to die.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I get it. Thor's happy, though, isn't he?”

Jane smiles a little. She and Thor are so in love. Darcy envies her a bit– sure, she has Ian, but Ian's not exactly a Norse god of legend. He's not very _dramatic_. 

“Yeah, he is,” Jane says softly. 

“And he's known him longer than any of us. Like, waaaaaay longer. And he likes him. Just saying.”

“True,” Jane sighs. 

“C'mon,” Darcy says, and pulls her over to the table. “I wanna hear what they're talking about.”

They're talking about magic. Loki says: “Very well, I will attempt to contact him,” by which he means, apparently, telepathy. 

Loki takes a seat at the table, breathes out, closes his eyes. 

“This is so cool,” Darcy whispers to Jane, and Loki opens his eyes again to give her a mild glare. 

“This requires concentration, so I would appreciate quiet. Also, you may all cease staring at me– it won't make this go any faster.”

“Sorry,” Darcy says sheepishly. 

Loki closes his eyes again, but the not-staring? Not gonna happen.

***


	12. Chapter 12

“Stark. _Stark_!”

“Nngh?” Tony jolts awake, looks around. That sounded like... “Loki?”

“Yes. Where are you?”

“I... dunno?” Tony wishes his head were clearer. “Where are you?” He can't see Loki anywhere, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything, after all. Or he could be hallucinating. That happens, right? When you're dehydrated?

“Avenger's Tower. What do you mean, you don't know?”

Tony frowns, blinks. “What do you mean, Avenger's Tower? How are you talking to me if you're at Avenger's Tower?”

“Telepathy,” Loki snaps impatiently, and like it should be obvious. “Now where are you?”

Telepathy? Yeah, okay. Tony can deal with telepathy. “I don't know,” he repeats. He's speaking out loud, but could he...? 'It's a cave or something. There's lava. Also a dragon,' he thinks.

“A dragon? Well, that makes sense,” Loki's voice says. Okay, that proves the telepathy. (Or the hallucination. Jury's out.)

Also... “Sense? How does that make sense? A dragon does not make sense! It's the opposite of sense!”

“Stark. Calm down. I had trouble reaching you, and a dragon's presence would explain that. Magical interference, don't concern yourself with it. Now, what is your condition?”

“Hungry,” he admits. He can live with leaving up the magic nonsense to Loki, for the moment. Just the moment, though. “Thirsty– very. Dehydrated.”

“Hm. No injuries?”

“Minor.” It's fucking painful, is what it is, but he can deal. 

“Are you mobile?” 

“If it gets me out of here? Yes.”

“And are you in imminent danger?”

“No.” 

“The dragon is no threat?”

“So long as I don't try to leave? No.”

“Very good. Rest, and try to keep yourself out of further trouble. It will take me a few hours to determine your location and prepare your... extraction.”

“Yeah, okay,” Tony nods. He can do that. It's not like he can do _anything else_.

He's tried it all. He's strategically shot every part of the dragon's body. That thing about them having a vulnerable spot at the belly? Big fat lie. He's out of ammo, and the dragon didn't care. Not one bit. 

Also, apparently dragons don't sleep. At least it hasn't, not for the past three days, not so deep it didn't notice Tony sneaking off, anyway. 

He's even tried leaving the suit behind. He's pretty sure that's what the dragon's after in the first place. And he figured he'd be quieter without it. 

That was a big mistake. He seriously almost got eaten that time, and he did get burned. Apparently, dragons like their food well-roasted. And, yeah, they do breathe fire. He's still not quite sure how he made it back into the suit in time– adrenaline and Extremis speed, probably.

His left side, hip to face, is a spread of throbbing pain, and the fire didn't even touch him– dodged it just in time. Without food and water, the Extremis healing factor has slowed to an agonizing crawl. God, he wants _out of here_. 

But it's okay. He's almost given up there, these last few hours, as he dozed and failed to come up with any brilliant new ideas on how to get past the dragon, or get the dragon to leave him the fuck alone, but now, help's on the way. 

Unless he was hallucinating, of course. He checks the time, mentally gives it four hours before he decides he _was_ hallucinating.

***

Darcy is nearly bouncing in her seat by the time Loki opens his eyes again. Faint expressions have flitted across his face, a small frown, an astonished twitch of eyebrows.

“He is alive,” Loki announces to the room at large, “and neither in imminent danger nor gravely injured.” 

A sigh of relief kind of travels around the table. 

Thor grins broadly, claps Loki on the shoulder. “Well done, Brother. We thank you.”

Loki raises an eyebrow at him. “The matter is hardly settled. It appears he's become stuck in some sort of cave behind a dragon. I have some ideas on how to get him out, but first we need to determine where he is.”

“A dragon?” Darcy demands. “For real?”

“Rare,” Loki acknowledges, “but very real indeed. And quite troublesome.” 

“And he didn't tell you where he was?” Jane asks. 

Loki shakes his head. “He did not know. He said he's in a cave which contains lava and the dragon.”

“But how are we going to find him?” Bruce asks, flicks a glance at the screens JARVIS's been running 24/7 just in case Tony shows up again. 

“I shall scry for him. The dragon's presence makes this more of a nuisance than it usually would be, of course, but as he has no countermeasures against magical detection and indeed _wants_ to be found, I'm confident I will manage. It might take me an hour, however, and I will require a few things, most importantly something of Stark's– something personal. The more it means to him, the more often he touches it, the better.”

“You shall have what you need, Loki,” Thor states. 

It's at that point that Pepper shows up. Darcy's the first to notice her, and she waves, grins. 

“Hey! It's okay, Tony's fine. We're gonna rescue him!”

Pepper staggers, grabs hold of the door frame, looks at Darcy with big, hopeful eyes. Thor's on his way immediately, guides her to sit down on a couch. 

“Darcy is correct. We have been able to establish contact, and it appears he is alive and well, if unable to extricate himself.”

Pepper's eyes shoot around the room, land on Loki for a moment, and she glares a bit. Not that it seems to bother Loki. 

“Where is he? What happened to him?”

“His whereabouts are as yet to be determined,” Loki says. “As for what happened– it appears he ran afoul of a dragon, which has decided to keep him. All that gold of his suit, I expect,” and now there's a bit of a smirk on his face. 

Pepper blinks, hard. “Did you just say a dragon?”

Loki tilts his head. “I did. And now if you'll excuse me, I have a spell to prepare to find your wayward Avenger.”

“Can I watch?” Darcy asks, jumps to her feet. Loki looks at her, and again, there's that amused almost-smile. 

“You may– _if_ you will be quiet when I tell you to.”

Darcy feels a wide grin spread on her face. “Totally! I can do that!”

***

And she absolutely gets to watch. Loki picks the kitchen, of all places (“Washable floors”, he says when she asks) and settles down with a metal mixing bowl and a bottle of spring water in the middle of a circle of runes he drew on the tiles in sharpie. He also has a few short, dark hairs from Tony's comb, a decanter of Tony's favourite Scotch and the helmet of one of Tony's other suits with him. “The more the better,” he explains with a shrug.

He crosses his long legs and sets the bowl on top of them, then pours the water into it– over the top of the helmet. He sets the wet helmet aside and throws the hairs into the bowl to drift on top of the water, pours a few drops of Scotch into it. He settles his hands around the sides of the bowl, and starts breathing deep and regular, his eyes sliding half-closed while he stares into the water. 

And then nothing happens. For a long time. Darcy squirms a little where she's sitting on the kitchen island, bites her lip to keep herself quiet. Loki's just sitting there, blinking slowly every now and then. Eventually, she pulls her phone out quietly, starts playing Angry Birds. 

She's just beaten her own personal high-score, flicks her eyes over at Loki– blinks, tilts her head a little. 

There's... if she looks at them out of the corners of her eyes, sort of, there's a faint green shimmer emanating from the runes on the floor. It reminds her of the green fire she'd once made for Halloween from rubbing alcohol and roach killer, though this is so faint it's nearly invisible in the bright lights of the kitchen. Loki's still sitting like a statue in the middle of the circle, but as she watches the surface of the water shivers. For a moment she thinks Loki must've jostled it after all, but the little waves settle back into perfect smoothness with unnatural speed. 

She leans forward a little, eager not to miss a single thing. 

The shiver happens again, and this time it doesn't settle down, it gets stronger. At the same time, the green light from the runes becomes more substantial, and a similar kind of flickering light starts creeping over Loki's hands, along the rim of the bowl. 

The water almost _squirms_ in the bowl, like it's being pulled in several directions, forms valleys and peaks that make no sense whatsoever in terms of physics. The circle of green fire flares, and she instinctively expects a wave of heat, the roar of flames, but she can't feel anything except maybe some kind of pressure that has her swallowing to make her ears pop. 

And then the water lifts out of the bowl, just floats up and moulds itself into a ball, Loki's eyes following it. There's ridges and lines on it, and she just about has time to realize 'Holy _shit_ , that's _Earth_!' before it changes, kind of wraps itself around a part of itself to reform into... an island?, and then changes again into a rugged kind of cone shape, with a broken-off tip and crinkly sides. It changes once more, or tries to, into a sort of tube with a bulb at the end, but before it can solidify, the middle breaks out of it and the water falls back into the bowl. 

Well, some of it, anyway. Most of it splashes over the rim with the impact. 

Loki blinks, gives a resigned sigh, and wipes a dripping hand over his wet face. 

Darcy can't help it, she snickers. 

Loki looks at her, raises his eyebrows. “Yes, yes, I should've seen that coming. Pass me a towel, will you?”

Darcy hops of the island and pulls a towel of a hook at the side of it, hands it to Loki. The green flames have gone, and the rune circle is back to being black squiggles on the floor. 

“What happened?” she asks while Loki sets the bowl with its little bit of water at the bottom to the side and scrubs the towel over his face, then his hands. 

“The dragon,” he answers readily as he climbs to his feet, wipes his chest, then his thighs. “Being highly magical in nature as well as highly resistant to outside influences, dragons tend to interfere with spell work by their mere presence. As it is close to Stark's location, it broke my locator spell when it attempted to narrow in on Stark.” He gestures at the wet floor. “Hence the mess.”

Darcy grabs another towel, and helps him clean up the floor, puts the helmet on the kitchen island. And, yeah, Loki's not too good to bend down and wipe a towel over a kitchen floor. Cleans up the runes while he's at it, too. 

“But you know where Tony is, right?” 

He raises his eyebrows, grins a little, straightens up. “I do. Come, we must inform the others and prepare.”

Darcy decides she doesn't care what anyone says. She _likes_ Loki.

***

It's been three-and-a-half hours since his maybe hallucinatory chat with Loki when Tony hears a kind of scratching sound from down the tunnel. He sits up on the pile of gold, cranes his neck, but of course he can't see anything because there's approximately a hundred yards of dragon between him and it. (Okay, it's not quite _that_ big, but still...)

It sounds like... well, footsteps. With claws on stone. And kinda big. Like a really huge rat or something. 

The dragon hears it, too, lifts its head, then actually gets to its feet. It hasn't done that since it's tried to eat Tony. Also, this allows Tony to see the tunnel from between its legs. For a second, he considers trying his luck, but dismisses it. He knows he's not fast enough. Also, who knows what that big thing down the tunnel is? 

He's going to find out. It's coming closer, and the dragon's bristling. 

When it comes around the corner, it's not a giant rat. It's another dragon. 

It's not as large as Tony's dragon– more of a bungalow instead of a suburban family home. It's also green, with a golden hue rippling along its scales in the low light. Its claws and horns are black like those of Tony's dragon, and its eyes are a much paler green. 

It's kind of a familiar shade of green. But, naw. Surely not. That's... ok, Tony _has_ to be hallucinating now. 

“Loki?!” he chokes out, and those eyes flicker to him for a moment. The pupil is a vertical line through them. 

“Prepare to fly once I draw him away,” Loki's voice says– in his head, he supposes, since the dragon's lips aren't moving. If Loki's the dragon. Which Tony would say is impossible, but, hey, so is telepathy. And _dragons_. 

Maybe this is all just a really weird dream. Like, really, really weird. He's not all that much into gaming, and he's only watched the second Hobbit once, so he's no idea why his brain would plague him with dragons of all things, but what does he know? 

The maybe-Loki dragon crouches, growls. Tony's dragon snarls back, wings unfurling a little to make it even bigger than it already is. The Loki-dragon doesn't look impressed. Its head darts forward, jaws snapping close over empty air where the other dragon's throat was a moment ago with a sound like a gunshot. 

Tony's dragon gives a creepy, rumbling hiss, snaps back– Loki dodges, darts in again, somehow dances to the side, forwards, back, in the passage that must be sort of narrow from a dragon's point of view. 

Bristling, hissing, tail lashing (Tony flattens himself to the pile of gold), one red-and-gold paw takes a step forward, then another. Loki backs up, but clearly tries to make as much of a nuisance out of himself as possible, hissing and growling and snapping. He edges around the corner, Tony's dragon following until all Tony can see is a large, red-and-gold rear end. Tony tenses, ready to get airborne. 

And then the dragon stops. He's clearly still fending off Loki, but he doesn't move another inch. Then there's a roar, Tony doesn't know from which one, and a huge flare of light, a backwash he can feel rolling over him even through the suit, not the heat of it, thankfully, but the pressure. 

Christ. 

And it's Tony's dragon that pulls back, looks satisfied, flames still dancing around its lips, makes to lie down again. 

There's a pissed-off shriek from around the corner, and Loki shoots around it, nimble like some creepy cross between a cat and a snake, claws gouging furrows into the stone. His jaws gape, and ghostly emerald flames lick out, dance in his narrowed, slitted eyes. He's... fuck, he's actually really terrifying. 

He breathes a lance of that green ghost fire, bathes the other dragon's head and neck and shoulders in it, sends another pressure wave rolling over Tony. The other dragon growls, shakes himself– but seems otherwise unharmed. Loki snaps at him again, slashes with his claws, dances back, darts forward again... but if anything, Tony's dragon digs his heels in more, hunkers down, wings fanned out slightly, and is certainly not cooperating in being drawn away from his treasure. 

“Oh, by the Fates...!” Loki's voice says inside Tony's head, exasperated. “You stupid, stubborn, over-sized lizard! Stark, throw me a piece of the treasure. Quick, while he's distracted.”

Tony blinks, but, hey, he's no dragon expert. He'll leave that to the alien shapeshifting sorcerer. He feels around, closes his fingers around some kind of golden medallion, the size of a saucer, gemstones crusting the edge. It lies in his hand well enough, not too awkward to throw. The only problem is, there's really no good angle for him to throw the thing to Loki, what with a big-ass dragon in the way. Underneath it'll have to go. He crouches, takes aim, and slings the thing away in a shallow arch. It passes by the dragon's tail and a hind leg, under its belly, and lands with a soft clatter between his front paws. Loki's head darts forward, a glitter of gold between his teeth when he draws it back and... Tony didn't know dragons could smirk. 

Tony's dragon freezes, then roars loud enough to make the rock around them shake. 

Loki turns around, half-climbing a wall in the process, and darts away. And this time, Tony's dragon gives chase, bellowing. 

“Now!” Loki tells him. “And do not take anything else.” 

Tony's already airborne, already zooming out of the damn cave. Caves. If he never has to see a goddamn cave again, it'll be too soon. 

“Why?” he asks as he speeds along, fast as he can while keeping well back from the racket of the dragon in front. 

“Dragon gold is usually cursed,” Loki informs him. “Oh my. I believe we've succeeded in annoying him. Once you exit, the others are waiting with a quinjet towards the south. I suggest you leave the area immediately. I shall catch up.”

Tony passes by the smaller cave he'd first encountered the dragon in, speeds through it, finally enters the tunnel he's been thinking about for what feels like forever. And he flies barely two minutes, up and up with a few gentle bends, before he sees light, real light, daylight, and he feels a little sick with how close he was, three days ago. But never mind. 

He bursts into afternoon sunshine, is blinded for a second, because everything is bright and blue, and then he realizes that's because there's the ocean, stretching out endlessly, reflecting the sun back at him. The suit informs him it's balmy and tropical out here, and when he swings around to look at his prison he sees he wasn't underground at all, or not far– it's a mountain, a volcano, craggy black flanks rising into the blue sky, dense vegetation clustered around its feet before ending at a narrow strip of white sand and the blue, blue sea all around. 

A roar shivers through the air, and there's the dragon, blood-red wings spread wide, sun gleaming off its scales in blinding, iridescent cascades as it darts and dives after a smaller, green shape. 

It's hard to believe he's seeing what he's seeing, but JARVIS is recording and Tony has no wish to going back to being dragon treasure, so he swings south and there, hovering half behind the volcano and barely above the foliage of the jungle is a quinjet. 

“Connection with home systems re-established,” JARVIS informs him, and Tony thinks he sounds a bit relieved. “Incoming call.”

“Tony?” Bruce's voice comes of the suit's internal speakers, little pop up on the HUD showing his concerned, hopeful face. 

“I'm here,” Tony says, and only then realizes that his voice is a croak, and actually, his throat kind of hurts when he talks. 

He'd been talking fine with Loki, though, hadn't he? And he realizes that he's barely mumbled the words when he was talking to Loki, spoken so quietly that Loki must've picked the words out of his head, mostly.

He swings himself towards the quinjet, because the relief of finally being _outside_ , in open space and sky and free is wearing off, and, God, water. Food.

***


	13. Chapter 13

The ramp to the hold of the quinjet is open, and people are talking to him, Nat and Bruce and Clint, but Tony can't say that he's listening. 

He clunks down, metal on metal, snaps up the faceplate and holds out a hand. “Water,” he demands, and it's Thor who hands him a plastic bottle full of wonderful fluid. It's neon pink, and it's not water, it's some isotonic sports drink thing, and Tony will be grateful to someone's foresight when he's not ripping open the cap and pulling the plastic nub up with his teeth so he can finally get at the stuff inside. 

It's bliss. It's wet and it soothes his aching throat after the first few painful swallows, and it soaks into his body, he can feel it through his Extremis control, how it passes through his mouth and stomach, bit by bit, how it thins his blood and diffuses into his organs and washes toxins from his body. He doesn't stop until half the bottle is gone, and then only because he can tell he'll make himself sick even with the isotonic stuff if he doesn't. 

When he finally looks around, he finds himself subject to Thor's look of solicitous concern, while Nat's giving him a very calculating stare. He can see Clint in the pilot seat through the open cockpit door. 

“Thanks,” Tony says to Thor, voice still raspy. 

Thor inclines his head. “You are most welcome, Friend Tony. I beg your forgiveness for failing to prevent your misfortune.”

Tony blinks, waves it away. “Don't see how any of us could've seen that one coming, buddy. What?” he asks Nat, because she's still staring at him creepily. “Also, Loki said to get out of here, he'll catch up.”

Amazingly enough, no one looks at him like he's crazy or informs him that the whole Loki thing was all in his head. (Not that he knows how that would make sense, but, hey– nothing of the past three days has made much sense.) Instead, Thor looks kind of unhappy and crosses his arms, and Nat says “You heard the man,” presumably to Clint, without taking her eyes off of Tony. 

“ _What_?” he demands again as he grabs hold of a strap hanging from the ceiling as the quinjet, ramp long closed, swings around and picks up speed. 

“ _That_ ,” Nat says, and pokes his cheek with a finger, not gently, either. 

Tony hisses, because the skin is tender... and new... where the burn is fading as Extremis picks up speed now that his body is regaining fluid and minerals. Fuck. With the feeling of heat going along with the healing, he hadn't realized what's happening. He's still feeling surreal, out of it, his mind not up to its usual speed. 

“I'll tell you later,” he says, resigned. It was bound to come up at some point, anyway, he always knew that. “Food?”

She glares a little, narrows her eyes in a way that promises she'll hold him to that, but he thinks she softens a bit, too. And she reaches into a bag on the seat next to her, pulls out a handful of high-calorie protein bars. 

He wolves down three of them and empties that first bottle of sports drink plus another one before he feels even vaguely human again. He doesn't even want to think about how much muscle this little stunt has cost him. 

“So, where are we, anyway?” he finally slows down enough to ask. 

“The Pacific,” Nat tells him dryly. “Somewhere south-west of Hawaii.” 

Out in the middle of nowhere, in other words. Tony nods anyway. “So, dragons, huh? Also, how did you find me?”

It's not often that you see Nat discomfited, but even she frowns a little. “Yeah, that was... unexpected,” she says. “And Loki did a spell.”

Tony sighs. “Of course he did.” He shoots a look at Thor. “You never mentioned that he's _telepathic_. Or that he can turn into a dragon.” 

Thor looks apologetic, like he so often does. “Truthfully, it had not occurred to me that you would be unaware of his mental capabilities. Most sorcerers possess at least a rudimentary ability to talk mind to mind. As for his shapeshifting– you are the one who chose not to believe him capable of it.”

Tony scowls at him. “People around here generally don't _do_ that, you know? Also, I hate magic.”

Thor raises his eyebrows. “Magic has saved your life,” he points out. 

“Don't care,” Tony declares. “Also, I wouldn't have needed _saving_ without it. Not that I did– I would've figured something out.”

Nat snorts, and even Thor looks tolerantly amused. 

“I would!” Tony insists. “Sure, so the dragon was a bit out of left-field, but I'm sure I'd've thought of _something_.”

“Shut up and eat this,” Nat says, tosses him another bar. 

Tony could've argued, but he's really still devastatingly hungry, and also, it never does any good to argue with Nat. Not that he doesn't do it anyway, but there are times when you need to prioritize. 

He's just finished the bar and is cracking the seal on a third bottle of bright fluid when Clint shouts: “Hey, guys, come here and check this out!”

They crowd into the cockpit to look out the windows at where Clint is pointing to the left. 

There, pacing them, is Loki, still a dragon, gliding along with wings spread wide. He's even brighter in the sunlight, against the blue of the ocean underneath. As he angles closer, Tony can see that the golden gleam on him comes from fine, curling traceries along every emerald green scale. Which is just ridiculously pretty and beautiful. Especially since his scales have a deep, multicoloured hue chasing them in the sun, like a magpie's feathers, faint glitters of purples and blues and metallic green among the clear, jewel-like main colour. 

With barely a tilt of his wings, Loki shifts until he's above the quinjet, out of sight but for the triangle of his head visible through the top of the wind shield. And then even that is gone, and there's a bang on the roof. They all turn to face the hold, where Loki appears a moment later. He's singed around the edges and panting and cackling like a madman. He bends forward, rests hands on his legs as he catches his breath, his teeth very white as he flashes them all a grin. 

“Oh, I haven't had that much _fun_ in a long time,” he declares. 

“The dragon?” Thor asks, slides his bulk out of the crowded cockpit. It always amazes Tony how light he is on his feet for such a large man. Also... he has his arms crossed, and he looks kind of unhappy. 

“Returned to his lair,” Loki says, smirks, meets Tony's eyes. “To find some more of his treasure missing.” He tilts a hand palm-up, and the gold medallion rises, spins softly in a halo of green light while Loki looks at it, pleased like the proverbial cat in the cream. 

“I thought that was cursed,” Tony says. His voice still catches a little, but it's getting better quickly, and he can feel the burn retreating, his skin cooling. 

“Oh, it is,” Loki agrees, tilts his head, watches the spinning gold from under lowered lids. 

“Dragon gold?” Thor demands. “You would be better served to get rid of this, Brother.”

Loki looks at his brother, laughs. “Yes, Thor, dragon gold. So rare and precious– I'm sure I'll find a use for it.”

“You ought not keep it. Who knows what mischief it will cause?”

Loki laughs again, bright and wicked and genuinely amused, as far as Tony can tell. “Oh, Brother, that is rather what I _do_ , is it not?”

Thor frowns, arms crossed. “There will be trouble from this,” he predicts direly. “Say not I did not warn you.”

Loki... rolls his eyes. “You always warn, and I never listen. If this trouble should find me, you may tell me 'I told you so.'” He passes his hands over the medallion, one above, one below, and it vanishes like it was sucked into a tiny point of light. “In the meantime,” Loki continues, smirks, “stop sulking because you did not get to slay the dragon.”

Thor huffs, gives Loki a narrow look. He's... Yep. He's totally sulking.

“I would not have left the beast alive to trouble us further with its curse.”

“Always so eager to kill things,” Loki says dryly, which... is rather brazen, coming from him. It's not _Thor_ who invaded the planet with an alien army. “But you, Mjolnir and a dragon inside an active volcano? Why, between being trampled, electrocuted or burned up in the inevitable eruption, Stark here would've been spoiled for choice on ways to die.”

Yeah, that does sound kind of like a nightmare scenario. “The suit's fine with the lightning,” he points out nevertheless. 

Loki's eyes flick to him and he tilts his head. “Of course. I forgot.”

Right, Loki was watching his little throw-down with Thor back in the day. Tony glances at Thor, who scowls, then huffs, lets his arms sink to his side. 

“I take your point, Brother. And I do thank you for your assistance.”

Loki waves it away. “Stealing from a dragon? I consider myself well-paid for my troubles. And even I enjoy saving the occasional damsel in distress.” His eyes meet Tony's, and he smirks. 

Tony almost chokes with outrage, narrows his eyes and glares back. This is _pay-back_ , he suddenly realizes. This is Loki's way of getting him back for winning that fight. And of course Tony can't even say anything because that's their little secret. But... 

Tony drops the glare, smirks back. “Yeah, thanks.” And, heh, now Loki's eyes narrow suspiciously. Yeah, pal. You watch where you tread, because if Nat knows, Tony might just come out with the whole Extremis thing, and then he could just happen to mention that fight to Thor.

For now, he takes a sip of his drink, gives Loki a considering look, and says: “So I guess you really can turn into a horse.”

Loki, instead of taking offence, just arches a mild eyebrow Tony's way. “I certainly can.” 

“What's with the green-and-gold thing, though?” Tony asks. 

“They are my colours,” Loki says, like that explains everything. 

Tony raises his eyebrows. “You're sure taking no prisoners with the colour-scheme thing. Were you a green-and-gold horse, too?”

Loki gives him one of those phenomenally unimpressed looks. “I could have been, but as that is not a combination found in nature, I opted for black instead.”

Nat steps out of the cockpit, in between them, gives them both a look. “As amusing as it is to listen to you two bicker, maybe we could all take our seats so Hawkeye can step on it and get us back to the Tower so we can debrief.”

Tony blinks, because... he wasn't _bickering_. Certainly not with Loki of all people. He runs the previous conversation back through his head, and, nope. Those were perfectly reasonable, justified questions. He takes his seat anyway, straps in, because he knows better than to pick a fight with Nat. 

Loki, he sees, raises his eyebrows at Nat in a vaguely amused way, then sinks into a seat himself, somehow manages to make it look like he's graciously conceding it, not following orders. It must be that royal breeding. Then Tony looks at Thor, who flashes Nat a sheepish grin, and reconsiders. No. It must be a Loki thing.

***

He's barely through the door when Pepper throws herself at him with an anxious: “Oh, Tony!”

He hugs her back, carefully since he's still suited up. Of course he's already talked to her on the phone on the way back, assured her that he's fine.

“I'm fine,” he tells her again, now. 

“Are you sure?” she demands. “Where were you? What _happened_? Loki said something about a dragon?”

Tony winces a little. “Yeah, there was a dragon. You wanna sit in on the debrief?” 

He casts his eye around the room, but even Nat only looks mildly exasperated and shrugs. 

“Well, yes, if... that is...”

“It's fine,” Tony says, pushes her away gently. “Now I'm gonna go clean up real quick, and then we can get started.” He glances at Nat again. “No arguments. I've been stuck in this thing for three days, I need a shower before anything else happens.”

Nat smirks at him. “I just rode in the plane with you, Tony– no arguments from me.”

“Oh, ha, ha,” Tony grumbles. “Remind me to upgrade that quinjet with some mod coms. JARVIS, you got that?”

“Certainly, Sir,” JARVIS tells him. “And may I say, it is a pleasure to have you back.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Tony returns pointedly. At least _someone_ around here has manners.

Pepper snorts, and gives him a push. “Go clean up.”

Tony goes, and has the most wonderful shower in the history of showers– no, well, okay, that was the first one after Afghanistan, but this one comes very, very close. He scrubs himself clean three times, combs his hair and puts on his favourite pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and feels at least human again. The burn is long gone by now, to leave him with a large patch of paler skin on his left cheek and jaw, the side of his neck and all along his shoulder and ribs. Well. He tans easy, and a few days of sunshine will sort that out.

He instructs JARVIS to disinfect and clean the hell out of the Mark X-1, and heads back to the meeting room.

***

With both Loki and Pepper in addition to everyone else, the table is kind of weirdly full when Tony comes back down.

“Why are _you_ still here?” he asks Loki, and gets a raised eyebrow in return, as well as a frown from Thor. Okay, fine, maybe that was a little rude. Not that he's going to admit any such thing. 

He takes his seat while Loki shrugs.

“I assumed you had questions,” he says, which... 

“Yeah, I do, actually,” Tony answers. “Also, JARVIS, tell the kitchen I want two large steaks, medium, extra large side of roast veg, hold the fries.” He'd dearly love some fries, but considering Extremis has some re-building to do, this isn't the time to indulge. You are what you eat, after all, and if he wants a high-quality body he needs to feed it high-quality material. 

“At once, Sir,” JARVIS agrees. 

“What? I'm hungry,” he tells the table at large. “So, debrief. And may I be the first to say: Why the fuck is there a dragon in the Pacific?”

No one can tell him why there's a dragon in the Pacific. Loki's all 'shrug', “they're rare”, which seems to mean that you should never assume you won't stumble across one when you least expect it. Tony grills him about everything he knows about dragons, most of which it turns out he's already found out (big, pretty much indestructible by non-magic means, like shiny things and caves), or isn't that relevant to him because magic-related (interfere with spells, also near-indestructible with magic means), and Loki can't tell him if retroflective panels would hide him from one. Also, Loki will de-curse him and his suit, just in case they've been affected. Tony doesn't like it, but Thor seems to think it's the thing to do. And then Pepper thanks Loki, stiffly but sincerely, for his help, and somehow Tony ends up getting the bastard food, too, because apparently turning into a huge-ass dragon takes a lot of energy– who knew. 

From there, they run through how Tony ended up in the cave in the first place, which, more magic, joy, and he looks at the footage they have of the two they ran into. No one's seen them before, and Tony sets JARVIS to comb all available databases with facial recognition. 

Loki's not best pleased to hear that they possibly missed the Sceptre, but points out that now, they at least know which part of the world to start looking in for the damn thing. Which is when Tony learns that Steve and Sam have been MIA for the past three days. 

“Wait, what?” says Tony, puts his knife down, pushes his empty plate away. 

Nat shrugs. “It could just be that his phone's off, or out of power. It's not the first time that they've been out of contact for a few days.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, runs a hand over his goatee. “But they did say they were heading to Belarus.” He stares at the map JARVIS has hovering over the table, and it is the same area– for a certain definition of same area. And of course JARVIS can't get a beat on either Steve's or Sam's cell phone. Not even when Tony activates the 'in case of emergency only' tracker he's put into the guys' phones, which should work whether or not the phone's on and have their own power source. Also, he might not want to spar with Nat any time in the near future.

“What?” he demands. “Wouldn't you want me to be able to track you if you needed a hand? I mean, you worked for S.H.I.E.L.D., you'd think you'd be used to this sort of thing.”

“And here I thought you didn't approve of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s methods,” Nat tells him acidly. 

“Actually, it's not so much the methods as the people I don't trust,” Tony points out. “And, lookee here, run by Nazis for forty years.”

She shoves her phone across the table at him. “Take it out.”

“But...!”

“Take. It. Out. Apparently, it's not working anyway.” 

Tony takes the phone with a huff. “Fine, fine. I'll take it out.”

Nat narrows her eyes at him. “And I promise you, if you put in another tracker, say an upgraded version, I will break your legs.”

She will, too, Tony's pretty sure. 

“Anyone else rather die alone than have me able to find them?”

Pepper sighs. “You know, you could've _asked_.”

Tony blinks at her and says: “Uh...” because that... hadn't actually occurred to him. She shakes her head at him. 

“Any other surprises I should know about?” Clint asks. 

“Not that I'm aware of, no,” Tony tells him. 

“And do you give your word you will only use this if you have reason to believe that we are indeed in peril?” Yeah, Thor's not looking exactly thrilled, either. 

Tony rolls his eyes. “Yes, of course. Scout's honour, cross my heart and hope to die. Seriously, guys, what, you think I got nothing better to do than stalk you?”

He ignores Clint's muttered “Who knows?” and slants a glare Loki's way, 'cause the bastard is smirking at him, casually leaning back in his chair, arms loosely crossed over his chest. Loki raises his eyebrows and gives him a look of profound innocence. Tony retaliates by discreetly giving him the finger from under his own crossed arms. Loki's lips twitch, and is he biting back a smile?

“So, since that didn't work,” Tony waves at the screen, “how about you do that telepathy thing again?”

That gets him an arched eyebrow. “And why should I? It is not my purpose here to track down the stray members of your merry little band.”

“No?” Tony challenges. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought _you_ came to _us_ for help.” Loki's eyes narrow like he doesn't enjoy the reminder. That's just fine with Tony. “Cap's part of this team. So here's your chance to earn yourself some brownie points. Not to mention that the sooner we find Cap and Sam, the sooner we can get back to looking for your magic stick. And, oh, the fact that one of these things might lead to the other.”

“Yes, yes, I take your point,” Loki snaps. “However, I must advise you that I can't guarantee I will succeed.”

“You found me,” Tony points out. 

“And I had spoken to you previously, spent enough time in your company to learn the...” he gestures vaguely, “the _energies_ of your existence. You are asking me, for lack of a better analogy, to search through an immense crowd of people for someone I have only ever seen a photograph of.”

Tony blinks. “You've met Cap.”

“ _Briefly_ ,” Loki emphasises. “And never by himself. Telepathy is not like picking up the phone and dialling a number– it requires an idea of who it is you are attempting to contact.”

Tony's kind of creeped out that apparently, Loki does have that idea about him. 

“But you can do it?”

“Do you ever _listen_?” Loki snaps. “I might succeed or I might not. Either way, it will require time and effort.” He pinches the bridge of his nose like he can feel a headache coming on from the thought alone. “I believe in your vernacular, the expression is 'a needle in a haystack'.”

“You are one of Asgard's most talented sorcerers,” Thor says with a smile. “I am sure you will succeed, Brother.”

“Thank you, Thor,” Loki says dryly, in a tone that clearly says: 'That's nice, but you have no idea what the fuck you're talking about.' Thor's smile doesn't waver a bit and he inclines his head. 

“Is there anything we can do to improve your odds?” Tony asks.

Loki tilts his head, considering. “An object of personal significance, of emotional value to the good Captain might help. Potentially, I might be able to pick up a resonance of off it that will guide me in finding his mind.”

“Huh. Well, I've his stuff in storage in the Tower here, I suppose we could check?”

“That'd be quite an invasion of his privacy, though,” Bruce points out. 

Nat drums her fingers on the table, and Tony scrubs a hand through his hair, over his face. “Sure, I guess,” he agrees. “But... I really don't like this. I mean, look at the timing here, and the geographical overlap. And there's only two reasons for the tracker to fail: the phone's been destroyed, or it's somewhere shielded. If it'd broken, Sam would've contacted us, and if they'd found some major installation, they would've let us know before they headed in. Yes, yes, I know, sometimes you can't predict these things, unfortunate combination of circumstances, blabla. If they're fine, we'll apologize. If they're _not_ fine, we need to know.”

“Yeah, I agree with Tony,” Nat says, nods sharply. “Steve's not the sort of reckless idiot who throws himself headlong into danger without letting people know if he can.” 

“Hey!” Tony protests. “What're you looking at me for? That dragon was so totally not my fault.”

She flips one red strand of hair over her shoulder. “Not _this_ time, maybe.”

Tony rolls his eyes at her, then looks around the table. “Alright? All agreed? Great. I'll go look for something to play Steve-radar for you, you do whatever it is you do, we find ourselves a Capsicle.”

***


	14. Chapter 14

“Easy now, pal, easy,” Steve hears a voice say as he drags his eyes open. It's a very familiar voice. 

It's a very familiar face, looming over him, dark hair and blue eyes and crooked smile. 

“Bucky?” he croaks. This is... Something is... It's _odd_ , is what it is, but he can't put his finger on why. 

“Hey there, Stevie,” Bucky says, rests a hand on top of Steve's head. “How you feelin'?” 

Steve frowns up at him, blinks. “I... What happened?” 

Why is Bucky here? … Why _shouldn't_ Bucky be here? … Where is 'here'?

“Can you sit up?” 

Steve can, carefully, with Bucky's arm around his shoulders. He casts a look around, tries to assess their situation. 

It's cool and damp– he's cool and damp, his uniform dirt-stained. Trees are around them, black trunks towering, bare branches reaching up into a soft, overcast sky. Mist hides the foot of them, lies between them like a white blanket. It feels like there's a similar blanket in his head, his thoughts hazy, drifting. It's hard to concentrate. 

He looks back at Bucky, solid beside him in his worn blue coat, his hand warm on Steve's shoulder. 

“What happened?” he asks again, a catch in his voice. 

Bucky holds out a canteen of water for him, and he sips from it. 

“You don't remember?” Bucky asks, and Steve shakes his head. Bucky looks fondly exasperated with him. 

“Some super-soldier you are. Got yourself hit in the head, you little punk. Guy half your size to boot. Bit of a concussion, I'd say– I had to drag your unconscious ass out of there.”

Steve frowns. “Out of where?”

“Jeez.” Bucky sighs. “The Hydra bunker where you found me. You really don't remember?”

Hydra bunker... Steve has a vague flash of something, concrete walls fused to a mountain side, fencing and guard towers, patrols on foot and in Jeeps. But he thinks he remembers others, too, castles and factories and...

“Uh... maybe?” he ventures. “Where are we?” 

“Belarus. South-west, near the Polish and Ukrainian borders.”

That... that sounded right, didn't it?   
“Just couldn't leave it alone, huh?” Bucky asks. “Had to come and rescue my ass again, didn't you?”

Steve finds himself smiling back, because... that sounds right, too. “Of course. Till the end of the line.”

Bucky's teeth flash bright even in the murky light of the grey day. “Yeah. C'mon, then. We gotta move.”

With Bucky's help, Steve struggles to his feet. His limbs feel kind of numb, kind of far away. His head doesn't exactly hurt, but he's woozy. Bucky watches him with concern. 

“You okay?” 

Steve touches his head, shakes it a little as if that could dislodge the foggy feeling in it. It doesn't. “Yeah,” he says anyway. “Like you said, concussion, I guess.”

“Well, you'll be alright then,” Bucky says. “God knows you got a hard head.” He smirks, and Steve punches him in the arm. 

“Let's move,” he says, because concussion or not, memory loss or not, he knows they don't want to get caught by Hydra.

***

“So what're your new pals like?” Bucky asks him some time later. It's dark, and they're sitting around a small camp fire.

Steve blinks, feels like he's just come awake. He's not quite sure how he got here– he thinks he remembers walking between the dark, clouded trees, but he couldn't say how long it was, or when it got dark, when they decided to stop. 

“Sorry?”

“Your new guys.” Bucky makes a vague gesture. “Super-hero team, the... Avengers, was it?” He snickers. “Bit dramatic, don't cha think?”

Steve raises an eyebrow at him. “Two words:” he says dryly. “Howling Commandos.”

Bucky grins easily, teeth flashing in the firelight. “Fine, fine, you gotta point.” He leans back on his hands, sighs. “Good times, pal, good times. You remember when Dumdum decided he was gonna be our back-up sniper and wanted me to teach him and nearly blew us all up with Frenchy's stash?”

That, Steve does remember. He grins, too, though he recalls doing a lot of shouting at the time, neither Bucky nor Dumdum quite contrite enough to appease the way his skin was crawling when he saw the slug embedded inches from enough munitions to kill them all twice over.

“What kind of _idiot_ teaches sharpshooting by shooting other people's coffee mugs?”

“The point was to _not_ shoot the coffee mug,” Bucky claims defensively. 

Steve rolls his eyes at him, Bucky grins again, and they lapse into silence for a moment. 

“I miss the guys,” Bucky says quietly. Steve shoots him a look, 'cause that's not something Bucky'd usually admit to, but then nods. 

“Me, too.”

“So,” Bucky says, decisively, “tell me about these new folks you're hanging around with.”

Steve does, tells him how weird it still is to deal with Tony, how sometimes he reminds him so much of Howard, and then again, he's very much his own man. He tells him how odd, but pleasant, his new-found friendship with Natasha is, and how he doesn't really know what to make of Clint. And at some point as he's talking it occurs to him: What is he doing here? Why is he trudging through a forest on foot? He breaks off mid-sentence, pats his pockets. 

“Have you seen my phone?” he asks Bucky, because he can't find it anywhere. 

“This?” Bucky holds out a familiar slim black rectangle to him. 

“Yes.” Steve grabs it, feels the usual tingle of amazement that something like this is real: so small, and yet it does so much more than just make phone calls. Seventy years is a long time, but still– so much has changed. It's like living in a preposterous dream, some days, and yet it can't be, because he never could've even conceived of the technological marvels he sees around him every day. What throws him more than anything, though, every now and then, is the speed with which he's getting used to it. Yes, some days he wakes up and needs a moment to believe his eyes– most days, he doesn't notice that there's TV _everywhere_ , that it's in colour, that he can carry a phone around with him, that he can touch a screen and make it do what he wants. 

He swipes at his phone screen now... and blinks as it asks for his PIN. He sets his finger over the number pad... reaches for the number with his mind, and can't. It's... he should know this, but it's... it's just out of reach. He frowns, rubs his head. Why can't he _focus_? Some things are so clear, general things, but then he tries to remember how he got here, what happened at the Hydra base... and it's like trying to look at a clock in a dream, the thoughts and images slippery, refusing to _work_.

“I can't remember,” he sighs. 

Bucky leans around the fire, places his hand on his arm. “Hey. It's okay, Stevie. Just give it a little time, it'll come.”

Steve grimaces. It'd be so easy. All he'd have to do is call Tony, and they'd be out of here in a few hours. 

He feels like there's something he's forgetting, something he's missing, but... but he can't _remember_.

***

Finding themselves a Capsicle takes way longer than Tony expected. Okay, so Loki'd said it might take a while, but Tony hadn't thought he meant _days_. It was magic, right? Wave a hand, say some words, cheat reality and make the impossible easy. But, no, apparently there are _rules_. Limitations.

It makes Tony feel a little better. At least he won't be out of a job any time soon after all. 

What _doesn't_ make him feel better is the fact that searching for Steve for _days_ means they have Loki around for those days. Tony and Nat agree that they'd rather not let a former super-villain and tried-and-true sorcerer make off with the tarnished compass they'd found among the scarce possessions that Steve had bothered to box up when he'd left Washington. They'd presented Loki with a selection, some books that looked well-read, a few vintage records, but Loki had passed his hand over all of them, shaking his head. He'd informed Tony that none of it would do, none of it _meant_ anything. So Tony sighed, and handed over the compass, and tried not to twitch at the smile of glee that lit up Loki's face, at the brief brush of their fingers. 

And, yeah no, letting Loki take off with it was out of the question. 

Which is how they've ended up with a resident Norse God of Lies on the living room couch. Mostly, Loki just sits there, eyes closed, compass cradled in pale hands. Occasionally, there's a flicker of a frown, or a soft sigh of frustration. 

That part, Tony can kind of deal with. It's the part where Loki trots into the kitchen in the morning to make himself a cup of tea he has trouble with. And, sure, he was the one who told JARVIS to offer him a guest room when he found him asleep on the couch, in what looked like a truly uncomfortable position, like he'd just slumped over side-ways, feet still on the floor. He'd looked a lot less fearsome with the collar of his coat leaving red prints on his cheek and his hair a curly mess. 

Of course, Tony regretted his ridiculous attack of soft-heartedness in the morning, when Loki was awake and prowling into his kitchen like he owned it, when he remembered that this wasn't just a _guy_. No, this was Loki of Asgard, humming with powers that refused to be understood by Tony, and enough strength in his bare hands to break Tony in half, Extremis or no. 

And also, Loki made himself tea. Grabbed a mug, dropped in a tea bag, held it under the hot water spout of the coffee machine, pressed the button, waited patiently. Like a regular person. 

If asked, Tony would've expected Loki to demand to be served, would consider something so mundane beneath him. Or maybe for him to just magic himself his tea. 

But, no, he stood there, black leather coat and gold vambraces and all, and sipped his tea, and met Tony's eyes over the rim of his mug, white with a Stark Industries logo. 

And that's the really creepy thing. Not that he thanked Tony for his hospitality, or seems oddly partial to breakfast meats, or that he's in the habit of rinsing his mugs and leaving them neatly on the drying board. No, the most creepiest thing of all is that he's _watching_ Tony. He's not staring. It's not even all that often. But every now and then, Tony passes through the living room, or they end up in the kitchen at the same time, and Tony glances over and he finds Loki's pale eyes locked on him, intent, faintly amused, as inscrutable as a cat, before he returns to whatever he's doing at that moment. 

Loki's watching him. Loki's watching him, and it creeps him the fuck out. 

He's kind of worried he's the mouse in this scenario.

***

It gets a little better. He tries, is aware of it becoming light again at some point, of walking, of talking with Bucky, warm and bright and familiar at his side, but the fog will leave his head no more than it does the trees, not completely. Still. If he can only remember that PIN number, he can call Tony for an extraction. The nagging feeling that he's missing something, that he's _forgetting_ something, something important, won't leave him. He's poking at it, prodding it, because surely Erskine's serum should have healed him by now.

So it possibly takes him a moment to realize someone's calling him. 

“...ptain! _Captain_!” It's a sharp sort of snap, and the voice is familiar– unpleasantly so, once he's placed it. 

“... Loki?” he asks, looks around in confusion. Is he hallucinating? The mist swirls around his boots, leaves droplets on Bucky's shoulders in front of him. 

“Yes,” is the terse reply. It sounds like Loki's standing right next to him. “Where are you?”

“Where are _you_?” he returns instead of answering, and gets an aggravated sigh in response. 

“Why do I feel like I've had this conversation before? Oh, because I _have_ ,” Loki says. “I am in Avenger's Tower, and I'm speaking to you telepathically,” he continues, like he's speaking to a child. “Now, kindly relate to me your position and what has happened to you, so I may inform your fellow heroes of your whereabouts so they may facilitate your rescue and I can go back to more important business than playing telephone for missing Avengers.”

Well. It certainly _sounds_ like Loki. And surely anyone trying to trick him would be a bit nicer about it, no?

“I'm in Belarus, south-west, somewhere near the Polish border. I can't get the phone to work, and I have a concussion or something. I don't really remember, but I found Bucky.”

“What, pray tell, is a Bucky?” Loki asks, so archly Steve actually has to laugh just a bit. 

“He's my friend.” Steve nods at the man in front of him, but he supposes that doesn't help Loki, if this telepathy thing is true. “I've been looking for him. He got me out of the Hydra base.”

“Understood. Any other pertinent information I should be aware of?”

'Yes,' Steve wants to say, only he doesn't know what it _is_ , so he says “No.” instead. 

“Very well. I shall relay your information. I suggest you keep yourself safe until your valiant friends can locate you.”

And with that, Loki's voice is gone again. 

Bucky turns, raises his eyebrows. “You say something?”

Steve shakes his head. He's really not sure he wants to explain that now he's starting to hear voices– and _Loki's_ voice in particular.

***

Tony's teaching the gang how to work with the holographic interfaces over the conference table when he catches movement from Loki's chosen couch, and he looks over just in time to see Loki blink and raise a hand to his nose, catch a trickle of blood, frown at his stained fingers in consternation.

Thor's over there in a moment, kneels on the floor beside him, places a hand on Loki's knee. Jane's not far behind him, offers Loki a tissue over Thor's head, which Loki takes with a nod of thanks and presses against his left nostril in place of the back of his hand. Tony can see the red spreading through it from where he's sitting, and grabs the box of tissues on the side board before heading over. 

“So I'm guessing that's not supposed to happen?” he drawls as he hands over the box. 

“No,” Loki agrees, switches tissues. “It will stop in a moment. I had not realized I was under such strain, talking to Captain Rogers.”

That gets everyone's attention. 

“You found him?” Tony asks, and Loki nods. 

“I did. His mind feels... slightly impaired, and he claims to have suffered a concussion and memory loss. However, he was able to relate to me that he is in the south-west of the country of Belarus, near the border to Poland, and that he has found his missing friend,”

Tony blinks, hard. “He's found Barnes?”

Loki tilts his head, his eyebrows rising like he's just made a connection. “Ah, of course. Sergeant Barnes. He is nick-named 'Bucky', yes? In which case, yes, that's the one.”

The others are glancing between Tony and Loki now, and Tony knows he's frowning, knows he sounded a bit overly surprised there. 

“He claims Barnes extracted them from a Hydra facility,” Loki adds, pale eyes watching Tony with that damn cat-stare of his. 

“I didn't think Barnes wanted to be found,” Tony admits. “Who knows what shape he's even in? I mean, how much does he even remember? And sure, maybe if Hydra got them both he'd break both of them out, he did pull Cap out of the river, but I kinda have trouble believing he's staying around after.”

Nat, arms crossed, makes a thoughtful sound. “Point,” she concedes. “And what about Sam? Is he with them?” 

She's standing to the side of the couch, not quite in Loki's back but far enough he has to turn his head considerably to look at her fully. 

“He did not mention anyone else.” He pulls the tissue away, and there's no more new blood. He takes both soiled tissues into his left hand, clenches his fist, and mutters something under his breath that sounds harsh and foreign. With a hiss, a ball of poison-green flame flares around his hand for a second, two, and then winks out as suddenly as it appeared. Loki's hand is empty when he opens it again, and all traces of the nosebleed are gone from his face and fingers when he waves it negligently. 

Tony isn't the only one who jumps. 

“Geez,” he grumbles. “Warn a guy, would you?” When Loki merely looks faintly amused, he nods at Bruce. “There's some people here you might not wanna startle.”

That at least gets rid of the smugness, and Loki inclines his head towards Bruce. “My apologies, Dr Banner. It is merely sensible in my craft not to leave my blood so easily accessible to any rival sorcerer.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bruce agrees, clears his throat. “Just, like Tony said: a word of warning would be appreciated.”

“Certainly,” Loki agrees. 

“Great!” Tony claps his hands together. “So, could you, like, check in with Steve again and ask about Sam, or will that make your brain explode?”

Loki heaves a put-upon sigh. “I can adjust to the strain, now that I know to expect it. And as this seems to be the most expedient way to reunite you with the good Captain...” He glances around. “If you all could cease hovering, so I may concentrate...?”

Thor grins sheepishly and rises, and even Nat peels herself reluctantly out of Loki's almost-blind spot.

***

“Captain,” Loki's voice says again, makes Steve jump. He's still walking, it's still light, he's not sure how much time has passed.

“Loki?”

“Are there any others you generally converse with telepathically? The others wish me to enquire about the whereabouts of a man named Sam, who is supposed to be travelling with you.”

Sam. _Sam_. 

Steve stops, rooted to the spot as he feels like a bolt of lightning rips through his brain, shivers down his spine. _That's_ what... how could he forget _Sam_? 

Bucky turns, looks back at him questioningly. 

“Sam,” Steve croaks. “I was with a guy called Sam. D'you know where he is?”

What if he's still in the Hydra base? What if Bucky didn't know about him and left him behind? 

Bucky comes back, rests a hand on his arm. 

“Hey, pal, you okay? You don't look so good.” 

Steve doesn't feel so good. He feels dizzy as he remembers Sam's smile, his voice in his ear as they prepared to meet a contact, a former KGB agent... 

The trees look wrong. Why didn't he notice before that the trees look wrong? It's like there's only a few different ones, repeating over and over. And he _feels_ wrong, not quite solid, dream-like. He shoots Bucky a desperate look and has a sudden flash of shadowed blue eyes, flat and cold, of long, ragged hair. He glances down at Bucky's hand on his arm, Bucky's left hand, flesh and blood and warm. 

The world around him tilts, distorts, flashes like static on a TV screen. 

“EEG spiking, he's shaking it off!” a voice says somewhere. 

“Put him under, _now_!” another voice barks, and he feels a sharp sting at the side of his neck out of nowhere and the world swirls away into darkness.

***

“Hey there,” a familiar voice greets him, a familiar face, a familiar smile.

“Bucky?” Steve croaks. He pushes up on his elbow. The air is cool and damp, leaving droplets of water on his dirt-stained uniform. There's trees around them, black trunks and bare branches reaching high into a soft, overcast sky. Mist trails between them like a white blanket. It feels like there's a similar blanket in his head. It's hard to concentrate.

“Easy there, pal,” Bucky says, hands him a canteen of water. 

Steve takes a sip, frowns as he tries to remember. “What happened?”

“You don't remember?” Bucky asks, rests a warm palm on Steve's shoulder. 

Steve shakes his head. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, shakes his head in fond exasperation. “Look at you, hero. Came and saved my ass from Hydra again and got yourself hit over the head. And let me tell you, your unconscious ass is damn heavy– had to drag you out of there, you little punk.”

Steve smiles a little, tries to remember. That... does sound right? Maybe?

***


	15. Chapter 15

Loki's eyes snap open and he curses, low and long. Not that Tony understands any of it, but by the way Thor's eyebrows go up, it's creative.

“You were correct in your suspicions,” he tells Tony. “Something is not at all right in the good Captain's mind. I believe his consciousness is caught in some sort of dream-world. It doesn't taste like a spell, though.”

“Um. _Taste_?” Tony asks. 

Loki shrugs. “Your language, like most, is woefully inadequate at expressing the sensations and experiences of the metaphysical. It is the closest I can approximate.”

Tony rolls his eyes at the dig at his woefully inadequate language, then asks: “So what's it taste like?”

Loki tilts his head, licks his lips thoughtfully as if chasing that metaphysical not-taste. “Chemical? Mechanical? A bit of both, I think.” 

Nat shoots Tony a sharp look. “Whatever they did to Barnes, it messed with his memory. You think they're doing the same to Steve?”

Tony shudders a little, because if there's one thing he doesn't want to contemplate, it's Cap-the-Hydra-killing-machine. And not just because he'd have a very hard time bringing himself to take Steve down if it came to it. 

“What exactly happened when you talked to Steve?” he asks Loki.

Loki tells them how his question after Sam's whereabouts had triggered a violent reaction in Steve's surface thoughts, how he could feel some kind of barrier break– and how he was thrown out of Steve's mind as he abruptly lost consciousness. 

“And you didn't see what he saw? Hear what he did?” Nat asks. 

Loki raises his eyebrows at her. “That, Agent Romanoff, is the first thing a telepath learns to guard against. Not only would entering someone's mind to such a degree without consent be _extremely_ rude, it would also be highly disconcerting for the one doing it. Not to mention the danger to the integrity of your self.”

“In other words, we got nothing,” Tony huffs, runs a hand over his face. “Except now we _know_ they're in trouble.”

“I must rest,” Loki says firmly. “The fact that his consciousness does not, for all intents and purposes, reside on this plane of existence explains why tracking him is such a strain. Once I have slept a few hours, I shall attempt to contact him once more.” He makes a thoughtful noise. “It might be easier to reach him when dream-walking. Riskier, but if it works, it should allow me a glimpse of whatever illusion he resides in.” He pushes to his feet. “I will think on it, and let you know if I have any results.”

“Thanks,” Tony says, hears it echoed by the others, surprised that they don't have to bully Loki into it. He takes a step back to let Loki pass, and for once there's no smirk when Loki meets his eyes. He just acknowledges the thanks with a nod, and strides out of the room towards his guest room. Damn, but he's tall. And has really long legs. 

Which is neither here nor there, and Tony should really focus on more important things than the way Loki walks. He shakes it off, turns to the conference table, has JARVIS bring up a map of the area they lost the Sceptre in. 

Sure, maybe the info Steve gave them before is complete bullshit, planted by Hydra. It's oddly specific, though.

***

Hours later, after night has fallen and the lights of the city glow outside of the floor-to-ceiling windows, Nat sighs, pushes her Starkpad away, slouches back in her chair, her feet up on the conference table, crossed at the ankles. The others have drifted off to their own devices as there's nothing much to do for them.

“There's nothing here, Tony. No one in S.H.I.E.L.D. employment for the last fifty years ever sent so much as a postcard to anywhere within two-hundred miles of this area. No holidays, no properties, no money transfers, no phone calls. According to every bit of S.H.I.E.L.D. intel we have, no agent has ever so much as set foot on the ground there.”

“That's... is that normal?”

Nat shrugs. “There's nothing _there_. Forest and a few roads going through. I had JARVIS run through all available satellite imagery, looking for any unusual activity, but... Trees get felled. Cars drive by. Very occasionally, the roads get maintained. If any of it isn't what it seems, the data we have didn't pick it up. Nothing that screams 'secret Hydra hide-out here'.”

Tony taps his fingers on the table. “Damn. We're talking miles and miles of forest. If they're underground... which is where I would be, unless of course they've got the whole thing covered in retroflective panels, or maybe both... anyway, surely they must be at least accessible by truck?”

“I'm sure there's roads there that aren't on any maps, just for the forestry machinery alone. But the tree cover's too dense, we can't see them on aerial imagery.”

“Damn it.” Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “We'll have to go and map the terrain in person, won't we.”

“It's a hell of a lot of terrain. It could take us weeks, months.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees. “And it's not exactly like we have jurisdiction, or any diplomatic channels to pull with local government with S.H.I.E.L.D. gone. Never mind that any contact with any official body could tip off Hydra. If they were in S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Senate, I'm pretty sure they're in other governments.”

“So...?”

Tony sighs. “So I have a few ideas, a bit of tech that might make this whole thing moderately tedious rather than ridiculously impossible. So let's see what Harry Potter comes up with after his beauty nap, and maybe we can just go and blow up some Hydra goons and get Steve and Sam back.”

Nat gives him a wry half-smile. “Something tells me it won't be that easy.”

Tony sighs again. “I know,” he moans, and at least gets a laugh out of Nat. 

And that's when the alarms go off.

***

His holo screens flash red warnings at Tony that trip over each other, while JARVIS announces: “Secur-r-r-rity lock-k-k-k-down in in in progr...” He breaks off into a mess of crackles and static, and Tony curses.

Nat's on her feet, coiled, tense. “Tony?”

“We're being hacked!” he barks, fingers flying over his keyboard as he over-rides protocols, cancels crashed processes and tries to free up enough processing power to get JARVIS out of the loop he's stuck in so he can watch Tony's back while Tony finds where the hell this is coming from. 

“Coms down. Suit up, get radios, get the others, check for intruders, I'm losing the security system and we're only half on lock-down.”

And that's the great thing about Nat, she doesn't argue, doesn't even waste time on acknowledging his words, she just sprints off. 

“And take the stairs!” he yells after her without taking his eyes off of the monitors, just in case she didn't figure that out herself. 

Where is this even coming from? Tony's built this system himself, and it's the most secure on the planet. There's back-ups and fail-saves and back-ups for the fail-saves, but someone's managed to worm their way past all of that far enough to create a hell of a mess in the split-second before JARVIS noticed the breach. 

There's a dry, kind of crunching sound from somewhere far away, and Tony feels the floor under his feet shiver. He winces, hopes the civilians in the lower levels are okay. 

He catches a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, jerks his head around– and there's Loki, in full regalia, helmet under one arm, glancing around the empty living room with a frown. Also, his hair is kind of a mess, all tangled black curls. He swipes it back from his face as he turns to walk towards Tony. 

“Stark, what...?” 

One of the window panes shatters in a rain of glass and a crackle of purple energy. Hovering outside, painted in gold and shadow by the living room lights, is magical-portal girl. Her eyes meet Tony's, and he yelps and hits the floor just in time to avoid a ball of crackling purple lighting. 

“We're under attack!” he shouts for Loki's benefit. 

The green fall of Loki's cloak appears in front of his face, and he cranes his head up to find Loki looking down at him over his shoulder, smirk in place. 

“Yes, I can see that,” he tells Tony dryly even as he spreads his arms, a translucent green shield shimmering into existence between them and the table, and the girl. 

Tony scrambles to his feet and gets his fingers back on the holographic interface. “Can you keep her busy? I gotta stop this hack.”

“I can see that, too,” Loki answers with a brief, assessing glance at the screens. “And, yes, I can.” There's a toothy smile spreading on his face that isn't nice at all, and his eyes are narrow as he turns towards the girl, stalks out of the green shield which remains, slides the helmet onto his head. 

“Hello, little witch,” he purrs. Green fire crackles to life as he flexes his fingers. “Shall we dance?”

Tony almost feels sorry for her. Then he remembers the dragon, and, no, wait, he doesn't. 

With half an eye on the fight, he gets back to work. Fingers flying across his holographic keyboard, he starts isolating JARVIS' sub-routines from the Tower's main system for a clean re-boot. JARVIS'll lose a few minutes of memory, but it'll get him un-stuck. 

Loki, meanwhile, squares off with the girl floating outside the window, stance wide, shoulders back, golden horns arching high, emerald light swirling in his palms. The girl's eyes narrow, and she hauls another of those purple lighting bolts at his head with a savage swipe of her arm. Loki twists out of the way, and Tony hears, with resignation, the sound of breaking glass and exploding plaster. The vase of flowers next to the doorway to the kitchen, judging by the trajectory (possibly half the doorway, too). Shame. Pepper liked that vase. He'll have to have the living room re-done once again, Tony just knows it. He kinda hopes the bar'll escape the worst of it– there's some very nice bottles in there. 

Loki sends one of his own green energy balls towards the girl with a spare flick of his fingers, smirk firmly in place. She dodges in the air– right into the second one. It catches her in the shoulder, throws her backwards. There's a scorch mark on her leather jacket, faint smoke rising darkly in the living room lights as she clutches at her shoulder, rights herself, still in mid-air. 

She snarls, pretty young face distorted in rage, and brings both hands forward, palms towards Loki– who's blasted off his feet, goes flying the width of the living room and right through the wall. 

That's... not good. While Tony does understand the urge, he does, any regular person would now be a splatter of blood and broken bones against that wall. His fingers freeze over translucent blue keys as the girl turns towards him, hands rising. Tony gulps, tenses. 

In a scrape and clatter of broken wood and masonry, Loki hauls himself out of the hole in the wall, stalks back into the living room. He's dusted in debris and white plaster, a scrape leaving a dark smear of blood over one sharp cheekbone. He's also not smirking anymore. 

A flick of his fingers, and he's immaculate once more. Tony flicks his eyes to the girl, to find hers very wide. 

“Not bad, little witch,” Loki growls, lowers his head, spreads his arms. “Let me return the favour.”

She doesn't give him any more time, smart girl, but hauls off with the blast that was meant for Tony, another ball of crackling energy. It hits Loki– travels right through him to leave scorch marks on the floor as the image of Loki winks out of existence. He's over there by the bar instead, no, back towards the kitchen, no, right in front of the broken window... Tony can't tell whether he's teleporting or throwing up illusions, but then there's four Lokis in the room, some readying daggers, some conjuring green flames, and they all look like the real thing. Which Tony takes to mean that none of them are, not that he has the equipment to verify with JARVIS down. 

Which reminds him, yeah, the magical throw-down is distracting and all, but he has a job to do. 

“Don't kill her, all right?” he throws out into the general direction of the room, since, yeah, actually... Loki's the kind of person you might need to point that out to, Tony has no idea how broad a sane(-ish) Loki's streak of ruthlessness is. And, sure, he's pissed about that dragon thing and all, but he'd still rather not see the girl dead. 

Apparently, she doesn't appreciate the sentiment, because he looks up, startled, as a splash of purple flashes against the green shield Loki left him with, and as the shield vanishes with the impact, he finds her eyes on him, even with four illusionary Lokis in the room, and that's hate if he's ever seen it. 

Uh-oh, he thinks, what with no more shield and her apparently happy to ignore Loki if it means getting him, and then Loki appears behind her in the air and wrenches her hands behind her back. 

She jerks, shouts in surprise, and Loki snaps some sort of silver collar around her neck, catches her around the waist as she suddenly drops like a stone. She twists in his hold, tries to kick him, tries to head-butt him. He touches his fingers to her temple, and she sags over his arm. 

Loki floats back into the living room, touches down lightly, boots crunching on broken glass. Tony puts a quick few finishing touches on JARVIS' reboot, then steps around the table, narrows his eyes accusingly. 

“You can _fly_?!” 

Loki arches his eyebrows, gives him that infuriating, mocking little smirk. “A little elementary levitation, certainly.”

“Why can you fly?!” Tony demands. “You never did it before! You fucking were going easy on me, weren't you?” Because half of Tony's tactics during their fight consisted of him getting himself out of Loki's reach by taking advantage of the fact that _he_ could fly– which Loki wasn't supposed to be able to fucking _do_. 

“I merely prefer not to reveal all my cards needlessly.” Unlike other people, he doesn't say, but the arch look he gives Tony is just as good. 

Tony crosses his arms, glares a little. “What'd you do to her?” is what he says, though, nodding at the girl, because even he knows a losing argument when he sees it. 

“A simple sleep spell,” Loki says, hitches her up into both of his arms, then sets her down against the wall with surprising gentleness. “With her magic confined, it should last for the next hour or so.”

“Any idea who she is?”

That gets him an arched eyebrow. “How would I?” 

Tony shrugs. “Dunno. She's a witch, right? You both do magic. There could be a secret magic club. Newsletters. Witchcraft Quarterly.” 

Loki snorts. “I assure you, I have never laid eyes on this girl before, nor do I routinely hang out with mortals, magic users or otherwise.”

Tony rolls his eyes at him. “Right, I forgot, we're all beneath your notice, oh great ancient alien.” He blinks. “Wait. Heh, you said 'hang out'!”

“I'm glad my use of colloquialisms amuses you. Now, didn't you have something more important to do?”

“Already done,” Tony replies flippantly, waves a hand. “We should be back in business just about...” 

“Apologies, Sir,” JARVIS says. “I seem to have lost approximately 78 seconds of memory.”

“... Now,” Tony finishes, throws Loki a quick, toothy grin. “That's alright, JARV. Give me a suit, the Mark X-1, a status update on the Tower and security, and get rid of that pesky hack, yeah? Also, trace it, and I want full diagnostics on how they got in in the first place.”

He heads over to the panel in the floor that slides open, steps backwards into the open suit JARVIS sends him up from the workshop. Plating closes around him, a comforting shell, while JARVIS tells him: 

“Evacuation of civilians in progress, Agent Romanov is coordinating, ETA for emergency response units: seven minutes, forty seconds. Minor structural damage on levels 1 to 11, no present danger to overall building integrity. It appears there is a single attacker, the young man who previously accompanied the young woman Loki has incapacitated. He is moving upwards. Thor and Hawkeye are engaging, but are so far unsuccessful in containing him. Dr Banner is standing ready should he be needed.”

“Damn speedsters,” Tony grumbles as the face plate snaps shut and the world descends into blue-lit darkness and camera feeds. He marches over to the broken window, looks over his shoulder at Loki. “You coming?”

Loki raises an eyebrow. “You mistake me for one of your heroic companions– I've no interest in drawing more attention than necessary. I'm sure you can handle this without me, now that your magical attacker is disabled.”

“Gee, thanks,” Tony grumbles, but glances at the girl. “What about her? She already saw you.”

“She won't remember specifics,” Loki informs him. “Now, if you'll excuse me– I will return when you have the situation handled.” And with that, he vanishes. 

Tony scowls at the spot of empty air for a second, flicks a glance at the unconscious girl in the corner, and then fires his thrusters and swoops out the window, heads down the outside of the building to see what he can do to get the situation handled.

***

Handling the situation, it turns out, mostly involves a lot of getting smashed into walls by an invisible blur of speed. The guy's just... impossible to pin down, and pretty impact-resistant, to boot. Which stands to reason– otherwise he probably wouldn't survive hitting anything at the speeds he goes, what with force being a function of speed and all. Still, it makes for a very _annoying_ fight. JARVIS can just about track him, and if he predicts right, and Tony fires the moment JARVIS gets him a target, Tony _does_ actually hit him– he gets a very outraged look the first time that happens, before the guy's off down another corridor– but, yeah, it's a lot of chasing and shouting. A lot of dents in the walls and broken computers and such, as well. Tony's company is _not_ going to be happy with him.

In the end, Tony flies out another broken window and speeds back up the tower, just in time to catch Junior picking up Magic Girl, while Nat's tersely informing him of the perimeter breach. There's another unfriendly glare his way (these kids _really_ don't like him), and then Junior whooshes back into the stairwell he came from, and, curses filling Tony's coms, gets the hell out of Dodge. 

So it's a draw. They kind of slump around the conference table, plaster dust in their hair. Nat's nursing a sprained wrist and a black eye, Clint's poking at his ribs on his left side with a grimace until Bruce tells him to stop that, and Thor keeps scowling at Mjolnir as if it's betrayed him. Tony makes an executive decision, and puts a drink in front of everyone. Bruce looks at him like he wants to disapprove while he wraps Clint's ribs, but Tony just shrugs at him and takes a sip of his Scotch. It's warm and comforting even if the alcohol no longer works on him. Then he sets JARVIS to having the damage repaired, get the cleaning crews, track costs, message their employees to take the rest of the day off and what not. 

Of course, Loki would choose to reappear while they're all still a disgruntled mess. 

His eyebrows arch and his lips twitch at the sight of them, but, faced with two glares coming his way courtesy of Tony and Nat, he wisely chooses to restrain himself to a diplomatic: “They've retreated, then?”

Tony grunts in answer, flexes his shoulders and rubs his neck– he's pretty sure he has whiplash from all that being-knocked-into-walls thing. 

“What did they even want?” Clint demands. 

“Think they were trying to distract us from the hack,” Tony offers. “Magic Girl made right for me.”

“Maybe she just doesn't like you,” Clint tells him, a mean edge to his smile. “You sleep with her or something?”

Tony thinks about it. “Pretty sure I'd remember her. Also, she's a little young even for me.” But, no, it doesn't look like she likes him. He frowns down at his Starkpad and the data JARVIS's sending him, then swipes it up into the air above the table. 

“Alright, kids, this is as far as JARV could trace the hack. It's been bounced around a hell of a lot, we're not dealing with amateurs here, but JARVIS is awesome and so we know it came from somewhere around here.” He gestures at the satellite imagery. “If any of those trees look familiar, then that's 'cause this is the same area of Belarus near Poland that we've already been looking at– for a certain definition of 'same area',” he amends, because it's still a huge section of land. “But, and this is where the plot thickens, the way they got into our systems in the first place? They used Capsicle's phone. They must've cracked it. That's why the connection looked legit to JARVIS for long enough for them to sneak a virus past him. Needless to say, _that's_ not gonna happen again, but it does confirm that we're dealing with the same people who got Steve. So.” He looks around the table. “We're back to where we were: Find Cap and his new side-kick, get them out. Ideas, Snow White?” 

Loki gives him arched, puzzled eyebrows for the nickname (for that, even Clint looks a bit confused by that one), but leans back in his chair, taps his thumb against his bottom lip. 

“I shall try to reach the Captain through dream-walking,” Loki announces. “While his consciousness doesn't seem to reside on our plane at the moment, at least it will give me an idea of where _he_ thinks he is. And the Fates willing, I might be able to glean something about his actual physical location.” He turns those pale, condescending eyes on Tony. “I suggest you explore other avenues in the meantime– this will take a few hours.” 

Tony rolls his eyes at him. “You just worry about your thing, and let me take care of my thing.”

Loki raises a condescending eyebrow to go with the rest of the look, snorts a little, then rises. “And with such eloquent instructions, I shall go and do 'my thing'. Kindly don't disturb me.” And he marches off in the direction of the guest room.

***


	16. Chapter 16

Mist drifts between the trees. Snowflakes swirl in the cool air. Everything is close, hazy. Steve walks. He doesn't know how long he's been walking. Bucky says he has a concussion. Visibility is bad, and Bucky is a dark silhouette a few yards in front of him. Snowflakes cling to the shoulders of his blue coat, sprinkle his short dark hair. 

Steve's mind is as hazy as the world around him. They're escaping Hydra, that's important, he knows that much. His thoughts drift and slip like the snowflakes. It feels like Bucky's the only solid thing in the world. 

There's a flicker between the trees on the side of the road. 

Steve blinks, frowns, stares at the spot. 

It happens again, like a dark shimmer in the air, like static in the shape of… in the shape of a person, and then there is a person standing there, between the black tree trunks, his eyes meeting Steve's. 

He's tall, long black hair brushed out of a narrow pale face, to fall onto the shoulders of a black-and-green coat of leather and cloth, tarnished gold armour on one shoulder and around his forearms. He's a stark splash of colour between the washed-out blacks and greys and whites.

_Danger_ , Steve's instincts whisper, _distrust, dislike_ – he knows this man. 

His mind scrambles for a name: _Loki_. It's Loki. 

Loki raises a finger to his lips, glances sideways at Bucky as Steve's steps slow. Steve looks forwards himself, to where Bucky walks on, oblivious. 

He should shout, he thinks. He's so confused. It's hard to make a decision. 

And then, suddenly, (did he blink?) Loki's walking next to him. 

“Captain,” he greets, voice low, quiet. 

“Wha–?” If only he could _think_! “Loki? What are you doing here?” Steve doesn't know why, but he's matching Loki's quiet tone– their voices don't seem to carry. (Should they carry?)

“Your comrades have asked me to find you.” Loki's steps are easy, soundless, next to Steve as he looks around, studies the fog and the trees and the snow. 

“Huh?” His comrades…? Tony and the others? Why would they ask Loki? He has a vague idea that he knows the answer, but he just can't remember any details. 

Loki gives him a quick, side-ways glance. “Do you remember our last conversation?”

Last conversation? “… No?”

Loki nods slightly as if he's confirmed something. “How long do you believe you've been here?”

“I…” Steve sighs. “I don't know. A… a day?” Had there been a camp fire at some point? Night time? 

“And where do you believe you are?”

“Somewhere in Belarus, near the Polish border,” Steve repeats what Bucky told him. 

Loki gives him another look. It's… no, Steve can't quite read it. Pitying? No, nothing that strong, but it's too impersonal to be called compassionate. 

“Please try to remain calm. We are not, in fact, in any physical place at all. This is a construct in your mind. Not entirely _of_ your mind, though...” Loki trails of thoughtfully. 

Steve… Steve's just even more confused. “A… what?”

“This tree.” Loki points at one of the towering black shapes by the side of the road. “It is the same as that one.” He points at another tree further down the road. 

Steve looks at one, then the other– stops, rooted to the spot, and gapes, because Loki's right. They're identical, down to every crooked bare branch. And so is that bush over there with the one on the other side of the road, and that other set of trees, and… It reminds him of a picture he's seen somewhere, from the early days of 3D computer games, where the same handful of basic shapes would make up a forest that looked _almost_ real. How didn't he notice this?

“Keep walking,” Loki murmurs, reaches out as if to lay a hand in the small of his back, but stops short of actually touching him. “Hush, calm yourself.” 

Steve lurches back into motion, but can't stop staring at the forest, at how _wrong_ it is, and how didn't he _see_ it? He glances ahead, where Bucky's still walking. He looks solid. Right. Familiar. 

“That is not your friend,” Loki says. 

Anger spikes through Steve, sharp and hot and welcome through the fog of confusion, but Loki holds up a hand. 

“That is not your friend how he is now. That is your friend as he was. I understand he looks rather different, these days.”

Different? Bucky? There's something… 

Bucky falling off the train. Bucky on a road, long strands of dark hair framing cold eyes and stubble. 

“Hush,” Loki says again. “Breathe. Calm. This is no innocent dream– someone is doing this to you, and they will notice if you grow too agitated, and, I believe, make you forget.”

“How...” It's hard to speak, but Steve tries to keep as calm as he can, “How do you know all that?”

“It's happened before.” Loki's voice is even, his green eyes clear. Steve doesn't want to trust him, but he feels like he's adrift. “We spoke previously, and I believe something I said broke the spell confining your memory. You grew very upset, then abruptly lost consciousness.”

“What did you say?” Steve asks, then: “Spell?”

Loki shrugs a little. “I do not know what else to call it, although I believe it's not magical in nature. It tastes of chemicals and technology. And I shan't tell you what I said at this time, so we don't repeat our prior experience.”

Steve doesn't like it, but… “Alright, so now what?”

“Tell me, did you by any chance tell your friend there the PIN number of your phone?”

His phone? “I don't have my phone,” he answers. “Bucky doesn't, either.” Only… only he remembers firelight, and the phone in his hands, Bucky crouched next to him, and… “No, I...” He raises a hand, touches his head. “It… I… I tried? I… entered the PIN, but it didn't work, there was… It was broken?”

Loki nods thoughtfully. “You could hardly place a phone call from inside your own mind. But the PIN was in fact used to effect a hack on Avengers Tower.” He gives Steve another brief look. “No need to fret, it was unsuccessful. Now, lets see about finding your true whereabouts. Maybe you can see beyond this illusion. Tell me, what do you feel? What do you smell?”

What does he feel? Steve looks at his hands, frowns down at his feet. Can he feel them touch the ground? Can he… can he feel them moving? 

He feels like in a dream, he realizes– there, but not _quite_. 

“It smells… cold and damp,” he says hesitantly, then glances again at the fake forest. “Not like a forest, though.” He takes another deep breath. “Kind of musty? Like a cellar, maybe.” 

Loki dips his head in a nod, encouraging. “Can you hear anything?”

Steve listens into the muffled, white silence, strains his ears. “A… beeping sound? I'm really not sure. But… I don't think I'm actually moving?”

Loki makes a thoughtful noise. “Can you see anything that doesn't belong?” 

Steve looks around, tells himself the forest isn't actually there, tells himself to open his eyes and to look around, but… 

“No,” he sighs. “I'm sorry. It's like trying to wake myself up from a dream, and it's not working.”

“You're likely sedated,” Loki observes equanimously. “Nothing much to be done about it. Very well. I shall report to your valiant friends. Try and play along without giving them further information, if possible, to stay aware of the deception.”

Steve nods, but… “How are you going to find me?” A smell like a cellar and a beeping sound were hardly enough to go on. 

“Tony Stark has indicated he has some ideas,” Loki informs him. “And, having spoken with you like this, I might be able to find you with a scrying spell. We shall see.”

“Alright,” Steve agrees. He has the absurd urge to beg Loki not to go, but that's ridiculous, of course. He can cope perfectly fine, even if he is trapped in some kind of induced dream with an enemy masquerading as his best friend– masquerading so well Steve didn't notice anything out of place. But then he didn't notice the identical trees, either. 

Loki inclines his head, “Captain,” and then he's gone. Just gone, without a sound, and Steve's alone with the silence and the fog and the wrong forest.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapter- we've caught up to what I've pre-written, and I'm struggling a bit with untangling what happens next. I will do my very best to keep posting every two weeks, though installments might be shorter. Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates!


	17. Chapter 17

Tony spends the next several hours putting the finishing touches on his alternative for finding Steve while he has JARVIS run simulations on upgrading the quinjet– retroflective panels first. The occasional check of the security cameras shows Loki sprawled out on his bed in the guest room, fast asleep. Well, Tony supposes, “dream walking” probably requires dreaming– at least he hopes so, they're kind of in a hurry, here. Tony glances at the feed again, at Loki's long limbs, more slender in just a long green shirt and his leather pants, without the weight and bulk of armour and coat, the curl of black hair over the pillow, at the way he's maybe even prettier with his face relaxed in sleep, free from his snarls and sneers. Then he swipes the window shut, because even he has to admit that pretty or not, watching their resident deity of untruths and trouble-making sleep is a little creepy. (And, fuck, when did Loki become a _resident_ anything?)

At some point, Bruce joins him in the lab, sets a mug of fresh black coffee on the table in front of him, ignores Tony's “Brucie, I love you! Marry me!” with a practised roll of his eyes and raises an eyebrow at the tech on Tony's workbench instead. 

“Drones?”

Tony nods, puts the coffee back down after another healthy swig, gestures him over. “Found some specs in the S.H.I.E.L.D. files– pretty damn stealthy, these guys, undetectable by most of the usual methods. They're too small for radar, too cold for infra red, and now that I've put the RF panels on them they're invisible, too. Cool, huh?”

Bruce gives him a sceptical look. “I'm not sure I find the thought of that kind of technology in your hands comforting, frankly.”

“Aww.” Tony gives him big brown eyes. “Are you saying you don't trust me? Bruce, I'm hurt.”

“Tony, I know you mean well, but you do have a tendency to get… carried away.”

“JARVIS is running these, if it makes you feel any better.”

Bruce considers this. “It does, actually. So, I take it you're planning to send these out to find Steve?”

“Ah. Well, there's the catch: To keep them this small and stealthy, especially with the RF gear crammed in, I had to cut something. And since I'm not about to stick an arc reactor into something this, let's say 'portable', power supply is limited. Also, signal range. Because, you know, stealthy, and also power. Basically, someone'll have to take them and this base unit,” he pats something on the table that he's made to look like a regular metal briefcase, “go to the place, and let these loose to do a grid search. JARVIS'll filter the data, but it never hurts to have another pair of eyes looking. Once the drones have covered the extend of their range, they'll return to the base unit to recharge while you move on to the next grid point. So. Still tedious, but a lot faster than doing it by hand.”

Bruce nods, pats him on the shoulder, and leaves him to it.

***

By the time Loki wakes up again, it's the middle of the night, of course, and it's been a long fucking day. But when Tony checks on the others, he finds that no one's actually asleep. Well, Clint's sort of dozing on the sofa in the living room, game controller resting on his stomach under lax fingers, his head in Nat's lap, who's flicking through something on a tablet. Bruce is back in his own lab, and Thor's in the living room of his own floor, sitting on the carpet in front of the sofa with Darcy. It looks like he's showing her some sort of Asgardian game with little wooden tiles. So it takes no time at all to get everyone assembled around the conference table, coffee mugs in front of them– except Loki, who's opted for tea like usual.

Loki tells them about what he's seen in Steve's mind– some kind of artificial forest landscape that sounds frankly creepy as fuck, and how Steve doesn't know where he is, doesn't remember the last talk he had with Loki. In short, Tony doesn't like it _at all_. Especially not the part where there's some Hydra goon masquerading as Barnes and pulling info out of Steve. Hopefully, Steve'll remain aware of what's going on now that Loki told him about it, but they all agree that they can't count on it, not with how confused Loki says Steve was, not with the bad guys messing with his head. Tony has no idea where Hydra got that kind of tech from, to simulate dreams and apparently insert someone inside of them. But, considering the weapons' specs he's dug up in SHIELDs databases which they had in the frickin' _40s_ , and the sophistication of Barnes' arm… He doesn't like it, but Hydra are on top of their game, technology-wise. 

They need to get Steve out ASAP– and Sam, too, God only knows what they're doing to him. Tony introduces the others to his little drone prototype. As much as it chafes, though, one of them won't be much use, and Tony also wants the quinjet upgraded before they fly into hostile territory. Having super-stealthy recon drones won't be much use if the jet they arrive with'll set off every alarm in a hundred-mile radius, and it's not just Hydra they have to worry about. The Belarusians and their Russian neighbours aren't too keen on American superheroes traipsing around their countryside, Tony would bet, and Von Doom lives uncomfortably close as well. JARVIS's given him an ETA of about 48 hours for the manufacture and installation of the jet's RF panels and assorted odds and ends. It's longer than Tony likes, what with Cap and Sam already having enjoyed Hydra's hospitality for almost a week at least, but even with his amount of unlimited resources and in-house (in-tower?) automated production facilities… these things take time. A lot less time than they would for anyone else, granted, but a little time nonetheless. So, no, they can't get right out the door and searching.

Loki declares that he's going to try his little magic water clairvoyance trick for Steve the next day, and for now, he's going to de-curse Tony and his suit– in case of another emergency, he says. The suit's held up fine against the attack earlier, but according to Loki, if it _is_ contaminated, it'll only get more difficult to get rid off the longer they wait. So at least that's something, and Tony tells everyone else to try and get some rest, ignores Bruce's pointed look that suggests he should, too.

***

Half an hour later, Tony eyes the circle (runes in sharpie… Like, seriously?) on the kitchen floor suspiciously. “And you promise you're just going to de-curse me, right?”

Loki rolls his eyes a little. “Yes, Stark, I promise.” He points at the bowls on the floor. “Fresh spring water and wild sage– elements to purify you, runes to direct the energies.”

And Tony can't help but smirk. “Purify, huh?” he asks as he steps into the circle. 

Loki glances at him, a sly side-ways glance, and the corners of his lips lift in the faintest curl. Damn, but he really is pretty, with those lovely cheekbones and expressive mouth. He's still out of armour, too, except for the leather vambraces strapped around his forearms, all long, sleek limbs in his loose green shirt and clinging black leather pants. 

Then Tony realizes he's checking out _Loki_. Has _been_ checking him out, for a while now, possibly.

'Bad idea, Tony,' he tells himself. 'Very bad idea.' 

And Loki looks as if he knows exactly what Tony's thinking. Tony narrows his eyes at him and resolutely turns his attention back front. 

Oh, he does not need this. He so doesn't. 

“Well,” Loki says, mock-delicately, as he crouches to light the grey plant-stuff in the one bowl on fire, “there's only so much even magic can do.”

Okay, so now he's glaring at Loki again. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Loki's smirk widens into that sharp grin of his, balanced on the razor-edge between mischief and malice. He rises to his feet again, the bowl with the smouldering sage in one hand. Fragrant smoke rises slowly from it. “Your reputation precedes you.”

Tony arches his eyebrows, crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh, _that_ 's how you wanna play it? Remind me again, which one of us has a reputation for sex with a horse? Right. That'd be you.”

For a moment, Loki looks like he's re-considering strangling Tony a little, body stilling, but then he arches his own eyebrows back, pulls the smirk back out. 

“At least it's only the _one_ horse.”

“What can I say.” Tony spreads his hands, preens. “I am that awesome.”

Loki snorts, and waves a handful of smoke into his face, making him cough. He mutters something, crouches down once more and touches the rune circle with fingers enveloped in a faint green glow. The circle flares for a moment, and is gone. 

Loki pushes to his feet again, with fluid, effortless grace. “Well. Whatever feelings you might inspire, you are certainly not cursed.”

Tony smirks. “Why, Gandalf, that sounds like a compliment.”

Loki smirks right back. “If it pleases you to think so.”

Tony steps away from him, heads for the door. Just before he leaves the kitchen, he turns, and shoots back: “It does,” then strolls out, last word had. He needs to get to the workshop and have JARVIS run every scan and test he has on him, just in case.

***

Loki considers the man leaving the kitchen– and who can blame him if he enjoys the view? He taps his lips thoughtfully. The cleansing spell worked just as it should. That is to say, it failed, but it failed in the way he would expect it to fail on someone who wasn't cursed. Whatever had interfered with the Sceptre's influence two years ago did not negate his normal spell work– not his telepathy, not the scrying spell, not this one.

Loki smiles a little as he bends to collect the remnants of the spell. How interesting. And he has another nickname to add to the mental list of things to look up once he has a moment to do so– Stark's penchant for monikers is proving a handy guide to current Midgardian culture. Also, Loki likes to know just how insulted he ought to be. 

He grimaces a little as he puts the bowls on the counter to be cleaned. There's a faint headache brewing behind his eyes, and his mouth still tastes like metal and bitter drugs. He needs some actual sleep, not time spent wandering the metaphysical planes of existence, before he can attempt to scry for Rogers– though he's dubious about his chances of success. Rogers' mind and body aren't in the same location, after all, and his mind is in no physical place at all. Most likely, that'll make scrying for him impossible. He runs a hand through his hair, frowns a little as he makes his way to the guest room he's rapidly becoming far too familiar with. The amount of time and energy he's expending on chasing down the mortals… He intended this alliance to be to _his_ benefit, to further _his_ goals, not for the mortals to freely make use of his powers for their convenience. He has contacts to talk to, information to follow up on, Stones to find. Hopefully, this situation with the Captain will be resolved shortly, so he can get back to work on more important matters.

***

Loki's magic water-people-finding spell doesn't work. They try after breakfast, Tony sipping his coffee and leaning against the kitchen island where Darcy's sitting, swinging her legs as they both watch Loki on the floor, inside another sharpie rune circle while absolutely nothing happens. For a long time. Tony feels his eyes grow heavy, clings to his coffee mug. He's spent most of the night in the workshop, running scans that didn't detect anything and building drones while somewhere under his feet, JARVIS is directing the construction of parts for the quinjet. Another thirty-something hours before the upgrades are finished, and it makes Tony antsy, having to wait, so he distracts himself with work, as he does. At least it's a productive way to cope, as far as he's concerned, and he did grab almost four hours of sleep towards morning, so he doesn't see how anyone could have anything to complain about. Watching Loki sitting motionless on the floor, though, doesn't help matters. When Loki finally opens his eyes again with a sigh, gets to his feet with a shake of his head, Darcy pouts. “Aw,” she says, “why didn't it work? It was really cool,” she tells Tony, “when he was looking for you, the water went all levitate-y and turned into the Earth and the volcano and shit.”

“As I'd feared, the spell can't cope with the division between the locations of the Captain's mind and body,” Loki answers. 

“Well, at least you didn't get wet this time,” Darcy tells him cheerfully as she hops down off the counter. And Loki… Tony blinks, because Loki smiles, small and amused and entirely lacking in his usual malice. 

“Yes, there is that,” he agrees wryly as he sets the bowl of water on the counter, fishes out Cap's compass and wipes it dry with a dish towel before he hands it back to Tony. Tony sure hopes that the little bath didn't damage the thing, but it's survived a war and a plane crash into an Arctic ocean, so… Tony leaves Darcy to chatter at Loki, asking him rapid-fire questions about the particulars of the spell which Loki answers with every sign of patience, and takes the compass with him to the lab to make sure it's okay anyway, and to see if JARVIS managed to catch anything measurable on his sensors while Loki was attempting his spell.

***

Later that afternoon, Thor steps into the living room, hair damp and towel slung over a shoulder.

“Will you braid my hair for me, Brother?” he asks Loki, who's sprawled along the couch. Loki looks up from the gold-embossed old tome in his hands. Tony, on his way from the coffee machine back to the lab, stops, intrigued. 

Loki raises his eyebrows, then sits up, swings his legs to the floor, sets the book aside. He gestures with one pale, narrow hand, replies: “Certainly.”

Thor strides over and drops himself onto the couch next to his brother, who turns towards him, one long leg folded under the other, and combs his fingers through Thor's hair. 

“Tilt,” he instructs, presses with his fingertips, and Thor complies with all signs of routine, giving Loki access to the side of his head. 

Loki quickly sorts out a strand of hair along Thor's temple, brushes the rest of that long blond mane away over the top of Thor's head, where Thor raises a hand to keep it out of the way. With nimble fingers, Loki starts braiding along the side of Thor's head. 

Tony leans against the wall, takes a sip of his coffee, and watches. It's another one of those intimate displays that make Loki seem like so much more of a _person_. It's uncomfortable, is what it is. Loki's way in Thor's space, knee pressed up against his brother's thigh, fingers in his hair, his own dark head tilted forward, eyes narrow in concentration as he winds strand around strand, takes in more hair. There's no space between them, no armour, no weapons. Loki's fucking _braiding Thor's hair_ , like they're little girls or something. 

Loki's also mouthing something as he goes, and... that's a green shimmer around his fingers, a golden spark floating up and away. 

“Um,” Tony says, “you're aware he's doing magic there, right?”

Thor, who's been staring into space with drooping lids, cuts a glance Tony's way, but it's Loki who answers. 

“That's rather the point,” he states tartly. 

“Oh?” 

“Spells for protection and good fortune in battle,” Thor elaborates. “It is tradition among our people–” Loki frowns like maybe he wants to object, but stays silent as Thor continues, “–to have someone you are close to, a family member, a lover, or a close friend, braid their well-wishes into your hair. If you are fortunate enough to count a sorcerer among those, they might consent to bestow upon you the blessing of their magic.” 

“Keep still,” Loki snaps, frowning, and Tony could be wrong, but he _thinks_ Loki's not thrilled that Tony now knows he's doing something _nice_ for his brother. Always provided he is, of course, but that's for Thor to worry about. 

“Apologies, Brother,” Thor says, and turns his eyes back front. 

Tony watches and drinks his coffee as Loki finishes off the braid he's working on, then rises to step around Thor and take a seat at his other side and do the same there. 

“Thank you,” Thor says sincerely when Loki's done, swipes the front of his hair backwards, braids included, and wraps a hair band around it. “I am honoured.”

Loki waves it off. “Yes, yes. My pleasure.” 

Thor smiles at that, happily ignores the sarcasm, and rises. Loki takes the opportunity to pick his book back up and spread himself along the couch again, nose in the pages before Thor has half-finished his parting nod. 

Tony pushes away from the wall since it looks like the show's over, continues to the elevator back down to the lab. It does occur to him, though, that he's never seen any braids in _Loki_ 's hair, and he wonders why that is– if there's any significance to it.

***

Thor touches one of the braids at the side of his head, smiles– probably a silly expression, one Loki would make fun of him for it, if he saw it.

 _Loki_. 

Loki is here, is alive. Oh, they're not as close as they used to be. In the old days, Loki would've been next to him now, would be reading on and sleeping on Thor's floor of the tower, enjoying the hospitality of Thor's rooms rather than the Iron Man's– but he's in the same building, has been in the same building for days, is somewhere where Thor can find him. 

And his magic lies warm and familiar against Thor's head. 

Their bond is by no means mended, Loki's still stand-offish and sharp-tongued as an offended cat– but he granted Thor's request, and Thor is wise enough to his brother's ways to count his actions higher than his words. Granted, Loki could be fooling him, could be playing with him. But magic of this sort is an intimate thing, and Thor feels no ill-will in it, no prickle or rasp or snarl against his skin, only gentle warmth. 

It's been centuries since he's last worn his brother's handiwork, but he still recognizes it, the sensation of it, from before he'd decided that his skills and prowess far outweighed whatever silly, childish little incantations he could possibly carry into battle– he might've said something to that effect to Loki, come to think of it, when he offered… the _last_ time he offered. 

Thor winces a little, as he always does when he's reminded of what a fool he's been, so rash and arrogant, so convinced of his own worth, of being loved and adored just as he was that he never realized the casual cruelty he inflicted on those around him. It burns, as it has since the day the impartial judgement of Mjolnir found him _not worthy_ , as he knelt in the rain and mud, feeling the foundation of his entire being, his entire life, break out from underneath him, cracks spidering out to shatter his assumptions forever, until they fell away like one of Loki's illusions and he was left to stare at the ugly truth of himself. 

Since then, he's worked hard to root it out, those old reflexes of self-righteousness and entitlement, but the more he does the more he realizes how long it's been going on, remembers a million little slights against those around him that didn't seem to mean anything in the moment, and he can't blame Loki for being wary. Still. Loki's not dead, and Loki's willing to work with him, there's no daggers between them, and it might be more delicate than mending a broken Bifrost, but Thor's determined to give it his best. He smiles to himself as he enters his living room, runs his hand over the side of his head again to feel the small braiding against his palm. It doesn't look like Loki's opposed to the idea, either.

***

Tony always forgets how much he hates waiting. He's not a patient man, and he's aware that he's privileged enough, be it money or looks or fame or intelligence, that he usually doesn't have to wait, can indulge himself and make the world go at the pace _he_ wants it to. But Hydra isn't about to cater to his whims, and there's physical limits to how fast JARVIS can produce the jet parts.

So those thirty hours until he can _do_ something, they grate on him. He finishes two sets of drones and base units, he eats when Bruce calls them all up for a meal, he even gets eight hours of sleep. He's a genius, thank you very much, he's aware that he's doing no one any favours if he runs himself into the ground before a confrontation. He needs to be sharp, awake, and his body needs the rest to rebuild the muscle mass he's lost during his stint in the dragon cave. There's only so much he can do even with Extremis to circumvent the natural way of biochemistry, only so far he can push it. 

The fact that he's aware, every minute of the day, that Steve and Sam are in enemy hands and vulnerable, is neither here nor there. 

In the spirit of these thoughts, he even heads for the gym for his regularly scheduled work-out. Of course, that's when Nat corners him. It's only when the elevator doors close behind him and he turns around that he sees that she's followed him in. He jumps, startled, with something that's decidedly _not_ a squeak. 

“Fuck!” he swears. “Warn a man, would you?”

She smiles, all predator. “Tony.”

“It wasn't my fault and I didn't do it.” He blinks at her. “Wait, what are we talking about?”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Your miraculous recovery from second-degree burns the other day.”

“Oh,” he says. “That.”

“Yes, that. Did you think I forgot?” She raises her eyebrows at him. 

He fidgets, scrubs a hand through his hair. “Um. I took Extremis?”

She stares at him for a moment, then she gives a sigh that's somewhat pained. “Of course you did. And of course you did it without telling us. Does anyone know about this?”

“What, I told Bruce,” Tony retorts. “And Pepper.”

“And swore them to secrecy, I assume.”

Tony leans back against the wall of the elevator, arms crossed, and glowers at her. “Hey, it's my body, okay?”

“And you're part of a _team_ , and if you blow up that concerns us, too,” Nat shoots back. 

Tony rolls his eyes. “I'm not going to blow up. I fixed it!”

Nat mirrors him, leaning against the wall with arms crossed, raises her eyebrows. “Well, I guess so far you haven't. So– a healing factor. What about enhanced strength? Speed?”

“Working on it,” Tony admits, explains how he's putting it back in. 

Nat gives him a calculating look. “You, me, the gym, no suit.” Her smirk's not entirely friendly. “I want to know what you're capable of.”  
It's not a question, so Tony agrees grudgingly, and Nat waves him out of the elevator– they've long since arrived at the level of the gym, of course. 

And he does need that healing factor. Nat puts him through three hours of _hell_. On the plus side, it makes time pass. On the down side… Ow. Without Extremis, he'd come out of that “sparring session” with multiple sprains and broken bones, and more bruises than he could count. He's covered in sweat and panting anyway, at the end of it, but at least Nat looks almost impressed, and he did hold his ground against her. She's still far superior to him when it comes to technique, the amount of grips and throws and ways to weasel out of his attempts at pinning her down she knows are apparently endless, but… Tony's no stranger to several styles of marital arts himself, and despite the dragon thing he's in decent shape and getting better, and he's certainly not made it easy for her. (And he _did_ beat up Loki the other week, after all– with the suit, granted, but still.) 

He raises his eyebrows at her, smirks, wipes a towel over his face. “Admit it, I'm brilliant.”

She scoffs, rolls her eyes. “I'll admit Extremis might be working for you. You're still an idiot, though.”

“Not gonna blow up!” he insists while he makes for the showers, and chooses to ignore the sceptical noise she makes.

***


	18. Chapter 18

Thank God, they're at T-12 hours, or thereabouts, when Tony gets himself back to the workshop after his little tête-à-tête with Nat, and JARVIS is finished with most of the production, so Tony can throw himself into fastening panels and wiring optical sensors and programming chips. The robots do a lot of the heavy lifting and general fastening of things, of course, but Tony can at least lend a hand to speed things up, and he'd rather do the more delicate parts of the procedure himself anyway. Music blasting, he loses himself in holographic specs and the satisfaction of tightening screws and soldering things and actually _doing something_. 

“Busy!” he yells distractedly when someone comes in at some point. Much to his dismay, his music turns down anyway (JARVIS is such a traitor, he should do something about that), and when he shoves up his goggles and peers over the edge of a wing, there's Bruce standing between cables and pipes and tools with a tray of food in his hands. 

“You missed lunch,” he points out in his Zen way. “I thought you might be hungry.” 

And, well, yes, he is, actually. “Fine,” he huffs, and forgoes the ladder to jump straight down. 

“How's it going?” Bruce asks while Tony shovels curried beef into his mouth. 

He waves a hand at the jet that's about half covered in panels. “It's going. We're on schedule and all.” He swallows. “Wanna help?”

Bruce blinks, then shrugs. “Sure. Should I… get the others, too?”

“God no!” Tony exclaims. “I'm not having Thor around delicate electronic equipment. And I've got no time to babysit, they'd just slow us down.”

“I'm no engineer either, you realize,” Bruce points out dryly, but Tony waves it away. 

“Yeah, but you can follow instructions– and you're a smart guy, Bruce. Also, you build half your lab equipment yourself, don't pretend you don't, I know better, and this is hardly rocket science– well, it kinda is but you know what I mean.” He finishes off the rest of the food, washes it down with the glass of water Bruce brought him, and waves at him. “C'mon.”

***

They're almost done, finally, _finally_ , hours later, when his music suddenly cuts out once more, interrupted by the blare of a familiar alarm, a flash of red across the various holo screens hovering about– for about a second, then it's gone again. “...Wait, what?” Tony scrambles out from under the jet, while Bruce, standing at one of the tables near the walls, coding, stares at his screen in consternation.

JARVIS is already throwing data Tony's way as he walks over, and he scrolls back through it from one step and one screen to the next, even while his trusty AI informs them: “Sir, it appears my protocols concerning the Sceptre were triggered for approximately 1.7 seconds before the signal disappeared again.”

Tony reaches Bruce, stares at the spike on the screen over the other man's shoulder, arching out of a scraggly line of background readings. “How likely is this a fluke?”

“Likelihood of a false reading is 38.4%.” 

Bruce leans onto the table, scrolls through the data while Tony frowns, then enlarges the map view of the signal's origin. It's… yes, smack dab in the middle of their area of interest. Bruce turns his attention to the map as well just as Tony's phone chirps at him. He glances at it more out of habit than anything else– feels himself still for a moment. It's a text from a blocked number. And there's not many people who have his private cell phone number, and even fewer with the know-how to block their number from him. In fact, only one person comes to mind to fit the bill. The text itself is a string of numbers… A string of numbers very nearly like the ones he _just_ saw. Tony glances back up at the screen and the coordinates of the signal, then back at the text, and, yes, those are almost the same. 

He closes the text, turns back to the screen, zooms in on the area of the signal, flips through the last few minutes of satellite imagery. Mostly, it's a confused mess of green treetops and shadows, hardly distinguishable as it's got to be barely dawn there, and fog hangs in streamers over the forest to boot, but there… There's a flash of light that's there and then gone. Could be anything– sunlight reflecting off of leaves, or water… or metal– only there's not a whole lot of sunshine to throw around yet. Could also be the muzzle flash from a gun.

Tony glances at the jet, back at the screens, taps his fingers against the casing of his arc reactor. Bruce looks at him askance. 

“We should check this out,” Tony says. “But we're almost done with the jet. Dammit,” he swears. “Thor could leave right away, get there as quick as possible, but in an hour, we can all go, and then we won't tip anyone off...” 

Tony misses Steve acutely– and, yeah, he's aware of the irony. But this is the kind of decision that'd be Cap's purview, and more, this'd be the kind of situation where Tony leaves the planning and briefing the team and hashing out details to Steve while he makes sure they're ready to go when the word comes. 

Well. There's nothing for it, so he sends Bruce off to get everyone together, tells him he'll be right there. Once he's sure Bruce is heading for the door, won't turn around, he opens that text message again, checks the coordinates it's giving him– it's maybe half a mile from the signal from the Sceptre, and there's absolutely nothing remarkable to be seen on the satellite footage.

***

Everyone's already seated around the conference table when Tony heads up– and everyone includes Loki. Apparently, that's how they roll these days. The weirdest thing is, Tony's not even surprised to see him, kinda takes it for granted until it occurs to him that there's something wrong with that picture. But, anyway, Tony and Bruce update everyone on the potential hit on the Sceptre, and the ETA on the jet and the question on what to do about all of that.

Loki all but orders Thor to take off immediately, and gives Tony narrow, bitchy eyes when Tony tells Thor “Whoa there, big guy.” Nat and Clint argue that it'd make far more sense to wait an hour and head in with the whole team, in super-stealth mode, and Tony's inclined to agree, even as Thor assures them he'll be fine by himself, and he can totally be subtle and stay under the radar– even Loki raises a doubtful eyebrow at his brother at that. 

Tony reminds them all how so far, they haven't managed to get a handle on Hydra's new pet mutants, not with the whole team and certainly not when it was just him and Thor, and, sure, it rankles, but he'd rather not end up chasing _more_ missing team members around. Nat's totally on his side, and she also points out that just because they _maybe_ have a hit on the glow stick, that doesn't mean Steve is anywhere near that location. Now, Tony has reason to believe that he _is_ , but he can hardly say that without awkward explanations as to how he comes by this knowledge, which he'd rather avoid. So he agrees with Nat that an ill-timed move on their part might put Steve and Sam in danger– who knows what Hydra'll do to them if they have advance warning to turn it into a hostage situation, or decide to get rid of them when they're no longer of use. 

Yeah, Loki's not happy when Tony makes it clear that Cap and Sam come first, and puts finding the Sceptre in second place– not at all. 

Tony gives him a narrow look. “Our priority is getting Cap and Sam out.”

“No, it is not!” Loki snaps back. “It is to retrieve and secure the _very dangerous_ artefact you managed to lose!” His eyes are poisonous, his lips curled in a sneer. But Tony's not about to let himself be intimidated. He crosses his arms, leans forward aggressively over the corner of the table that separates him from six foot four of bristling Asgardian wanna-be god. 

“No, we're going to rescue our people first, _then_ we're gonna search for the glow stick– which, might I remind you, _you_ lost here in the first place.”

“I 'lost' it to your pathetic grasp on purpose, you fool! Why I believed you could be entrusted with an object of such power, I have no idea!” Loki's mirroring him, leaning into Tony's space in turn, until Thor lays a hand on his shoulder. 

“Brother,” he speaks up. “The Captain and his friend are honourable men– I consider them shield brothers. Leaving them to suffer… It would be a great injustice.”

Loki rounds on him. “And if we do not secure all the Stones before the Mad Titan can, it will hardly matter, will it? He will obliterate far more lives than a mere two men! You would risk losing the war over winning one battle?”

Tony can't believe he's about to say this, he's clearly spent too much time with Cap, but: “We're gonna win the war on _our_ terms. I'm not gonna sacrifice Steve and Sam for some rock, no matter how powerful it is. You know, that's kinda why we're the _good_ guys. I mean, I know that's not _your_ style...” he adds, and, okay, maybe that was petty. 

It gets Loki's back right up, he's fairly bristling and honest-to-god makes a noise that wouldn't be out of place from a spitting cat. “I sought out this alliance to stop Thanos,” he snarls, surges to his feet, slams his palms down on the table and leans in to loom over Tony. “Instead I have spent the last _week_ chasing after you and your wayward team members! How you intent to protect your pathetic little realm when you can't even keep track of yourselves is beyond me!”

“Well, we kicked _your_ ass,” Tony points out, lounging back in his chair with his arms crossed. 

“I hope that will comfort you when Midgard _burns_ and we all die screaming,” Loki hisses, face twisted, shoulders tense, and his fingers– yeah, they're digging actual grooves into the wood of the table. 

Thor stands, carefully, and reaches out to lay a hand on Loki's shoulder again– delicately, like he's expecting Loki to lash out at him, and, yeah, that doesn't seem so far-fetched. 

“Brother,” he says, quietly. “We do not take the threat of the Mad Titan lightly.” His fingers close over the leather and cloth on Loki's unarmoured shoulder, and while Loki doesn't relax, he also doesn't do anything to stop the touch. “We will _find_ the Sceptre. However, if I understand correctly, we are not even sure it is a true sighting, and the benefits of a slight delay seem to far outweigh the risks.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees. “Unless you're willing to teleport the lot of us over there?” Come to think of it, that'd get them there faster than anything… 

“I am _not_ your _mule_ , to transport you wherever you wish to go!” 

Tony rolls his eyes, kind of fed up with Loki's drama. “Yeah, well, if you're not willing to help, you can just sit down and shut up,” he snaps back. “Thor's right, we don't even know if it was a real hit, it was there for, like, _a second_ , so it makes no sense to blow our chances by rushing over there. We all go, and we go in with the scanning equipment, and we go in quiet. So it's either you get us there with your mojo, in which case, yeah, we can be there in about ten minutes and check out what the deal is, or we take the jet, and it'll take a while. Your choice.”

Loki holds his stance for another moment, tense and quivering, glaring, then he huffs out a breath, and kind of slumps back into his seat, pinches the bridge of his nose. “You do not know what you're asking,” he mutters, and… he looks kinda tired, come to think of it. 

Tony shrugs. “Yeah, can't say I know the ins and outs of how your magic works.”

Loki lowers his hand, meets his eyes again. “If there's the slightest chance the Sceptre is there… You know I've no intention to get close to the cursed thing until the very end. The closer I get to it, the more likely I am to be noticed. And if I'm hauling all of you through the fabric of time and space with me… It'd be like manoeuvring through one of your security laser grids with a bunch of blind-folded trolls chained to myself.”

“Gee, thanks,” Tony retorts dryly, and gets an eye roll for his trouble. 

“You would not know where to step, you wouldn't even be able to _see_ the possibilities,” Loki huffs. 

Tony frowns a little. “Couldn't you… put us down somewhere reasonably close? But, like, not right on top of it?” Somewhere like, oh, next to a certain set of coordinates, maybe… 

Loki hums, taps his lips with a thumb. “Hm. Maybe… You have maps of the area, I assume?”

Tony blinks, tells himself he totally didn't get distracted there for a moment, watching the way Loki's lips pursed against the side of his finger (even his _thumbs_ are pretty). “Yeah, sure,” he agrees quickly. “We have, like, satellite imagery and stuff?”

Loki sighs, rubs at the bridge of his nose for a moment. “I hope you appreciate the fact that transporting so many more, and different, energies than just my own over such a distance, to an unfamiliar location, will require significant effort on my part.”

“So you're gonna do it?” Tony grins. 

Loki gives him a bitchy look. “Yes, Stark, I'll do it. It _is_ the most expedient method. However. Do _not_ count on my help to scour the no doubt tedious countryside for your missing Captain, or for me to join in any battles. I will get you there, and I will get you back, and then you will procure me the most lavish meal this town has to offer, and _then_ you will kindly all cease getting yourselves lost so we can focus on getting some actual _work_ done.”

“Deal,” Tony agrees. If it's dinner Loki wants for his services, he can totally do dinner– could do dinner and a movie, but, oops, that'd be a date, totally not going there, Tony, he tells himself (what is he, fifteen?).

***

It really isn't more than ten minutes before they appear by the side of a road running straight through a forest, green leaves lit by the cheerful rays of the morning sun. Birds are singing all around. It's quarter past five a.m. local time, and Tony's HUD informs him it's a balmy 14 degrees Celsius. Also, they've arrived right on target, at a position that's puts them at the point of an equilateral triangle with both the coordinates Barnes texted him and the ones where the Sceptre might've blipped. Tony's pretty proud of himself for the casual way in which he'd suggested the position. Not even Nat or Loki noticed that he didn't just randomly point at the map, he's sure.

He takes his hand from Loki's shoulder, steps back while everyone else lets go of him, too– also being teleported feels fucking _weird_ , all swirly and rushing and confusing. 

They get off the road, into the cover of the trees. The soil is soft and covered deeply in old leaves and needles, the undergrowth sparse in the sun-flecked air between the trunks. Tony hopes nothing's going to gunk up his boots– the suit's not exactly built for hiking in it. Loki strides over to a fallen trunk, covered in thick moss, a puddle of sunlight on it, and sits down in the middle of that beam of light, back resting against the stumps of roots rising at one end, long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He folds his hands over his stomach, tilts his head back, helmet and all, and closes his eyes. 

Tony wants to be pissed off. Sure, the agreement is Loki's gonna wait and hold down the fort until they're ready to go, but does he have to be so obnoxious about it and go to _sleep_? Yeah, Tony wants to be pissed off. Only… Only the morning sun is coating him in a fucking _halo_ , gleaming on the gold of his armour, throwing every fold of cloak and decorative edge into sharp relief, paints loving shadows on his face to highlight his narrow, elegant features, framed by the helmet, the line of jaw and cheekbones, the straight bridge of his nose, gives his lips an extra plumpness and throws his eyelashes into thick, black contrast. 

No one has any right looking that good, that _natural_ , sitting in a forest in fantasy armour and _that helmet_. It's like Loki belongs here, leather and cloth and metal, animalistic symbolism, the gold the colour of the sunshine, the green the colour of the leaves, the black like the shadows between the trees. 

Tony blinks, and shakes it off, and turns to the others instead. “All good?” he asks to check the coms are working, gets confirmations all around. That settled, they move out without further ado. 

Since he has two sets of base units and drones, he's argued, sensibly he thinks, that they should split up, one group going to check out the Sceptre site to see if anything's there, the other to start canvassing the terrain. So Thor, Nat and Bruce head off, the three of them should be enough to handle most trouble until Tony and Clint can get there– it's not _that_ far. Meanwhile, Tony and Clint head further into the forest, away from the road Tony's designated as the base reference point for their search grid. And if that gets them first checking in the area of those other coordinates… Oh well.

***

His armour is seriously not made for trooping through a forest– sneaking is kinda impossible, considering its weight, and the soft, uneven ground isn't the easiest to navigate in boots with a limited amount of flex. Fortunately, they don't have to go too far before they reach their target position to set up the base unit and let the drones do the rest of the legwork. Though, yeah, judging by the smirk on Clint's face, Tony's not likely hear the end of his ungainly progress any time soon. And, fine, considering the point of their current approach is to be stealthy, maybe he isn't the best equipped just now. Retroflective panels for the suit, oh yes, as soon as they're back. And maybe he should look into a lightweight stealth design for rough terrain… He tells JARVIS to make a note of it.

They set up where a large rock breaks through the forest floor, giving them something to cover their backs, the bracken growing around the edges providing a bit of camouflage, too, and send the drones out. They zip away, panels activating as they go, rendering them invisible to the naked eye, and pretty much anything else– Tony can't see them on the HUD, either. He flips up the faceplate, leans back against the rock and watches the screens with Clint as the first images filter in. 

It's very much all the same around where they are– the terrain's building to something like a ridge in front of them, and over that, there's more forest, blanketing relatively flat land they see when Clint steers one of the drones up over the canopy for a look around. No obvious structures of any kind, just the occasional line breaking the tree cover where there's a road or maybe a river. Clint gets the drone back down, and starts scanning the forest in earnest, drones hovering, doing a 360 degree turn, then zipping of to the next grid point. 

It's mind-numbingly boring. There's just trees and moss and leaves and fallen branches, so Tony's glad when his com activates for Nat's terse report. 

There's no sign of the Sceptre, she says, but something _did_ happen at those coordinates. It's on a rough forest track, and there's a Jeep that's run off the road and ploughed headlong into a tree, Tony sees on the video link he establishes with the other base unit. There's also dead bodies, six of them, strewn around the scene like broken dolls. They're wearing nondescript military uniforms, no name tags or insignia on them, but Nat recognizes one of them as some mid-management S.H.I.E.L.D. flunkie– Hydra, then. Their cause of death ranges from head trauma (the driver) to gunshot wounds to stab wounds to a crushed throat. Nat walks the scene, drone in hand, looks at the boot prints churning up the moist forest floor, confers with Thor who's doing the same. 

They agree that it was just one attacker. Probably jumped onto the truck from the driver's side, Nat believes, reached in through the window and yanked the steering wheel to the side to cause the crash. That killed the driver, and either before or right after, the attacker shot the guy in the passenger seat, one bullet between the eyes, perfectly placed. Then they moved along, used the side of the jeep for cover to take out two of the guys that must've come spilling out the back, then rolled _under_ the Jeep to get behind the other two with a knife in the back (kidney-heart) and bare hands (the crushed throat), respectively. 

In short, whoever hit these guys was good. Yeah, Tony knows who that was. 

They search the Jeep top to bottom, but if there was anything remarkable in it, it's long gone. So's their not-so-mystery attacker, if the motorcycle tracks are anything to go by. Thor takes off to follow them, it's not been that long since the signal, not even half an hour, but the forest track curves and hits the main road a little further on and that means no more signs to follow on the asphalt. Meanwhile, Nat and Bruce start scanning around their area, try to find out where that forest track leads and where that Jeep came from in the first place. They end their communication then, agree to check in either if a group finds something or in ten minutes' time– sure Tony's encrypted the hell out of their lines, but he'd still like to minimize the risk that anyone picks up something if there's a Hydra base close by. 

It's almost check-in time when the drones reach the coordinates he got from Barnes, and Tony scrutinizes the screen. All he can see is a clearing in the forest, a grassy meadow with wild flowers dotted around. He double-checks, but yes, that's the spot– as close as a set of coordinates will get you, anyway. He glances sideways at Clint, but the archer's focused on the screen, doesn't pay him any mind, so Tony narrows his eyes and looks for anything out of place, anything that might hint at a secret evil Hydra lair. He steers one of the drones right across it, just in case it's invisible, but nope, nothing. Nothing on UV or IR spectrums, either. He's seriously wondering what to tell Clint to keep checking the area a little longer when the coms click to life. 

“Iron Man, Hawkeye, please come in.” It's Bruce, and he sounds out of breath. 

“Hey, Bruce. Everything okay?” Tony asks. On the one hand, if Bruce hasn't gone green that's a good sign. And it is time for the check-in. On the other hand… The moment of hesitation before Bruce replies doesn't make him feel better, either. 

“We're fine,” Bruce assures him nonetheless. “Just… A group of soldiers came to check up on the crash. We took cover, they didn't see us. They were pretty upset about the Jeep, though. From the way they acted, something's definitely missing, and they called it in. And, um…” Tony's stomach sours with the pause. Bruce is also still breathing hard, and it sounds like he's moving. “They loaded up the bodies, we're assuming they're returning to base. And, well… Nat's under their Jeep.”

Tony resits the urge to facepalm (not a good idea, when you're wearing metal gauntlets.) Of course she is. “I take it you're following that Jeep,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Bruce agrees. “They're ahead somewhere, we can hear it.”

Tony takes a breath to ask whether he and Clint should head over there, what the plan is, when Clint says: “Uh, Tony?” and points at their screen, where… the meadow is splitting in half. Tony blinks, but no, really, there's a widening strip of darkness in the middle of it, and… There's some sort of circular doors, he realizes, large, at least twenty feet across, and the circle's splitting down the middle and starting to lower as it opens, as it's folded back underground, grass and flowers on top and all, until there's a big, gaping hole that spans most of that clearing. There's a quiet, very familiar engine hum through the drones' audio transmitters, and then a quinjet rises from underground, visible for just a few moments until it vanishes from sight in a flicker of retroflective panels. 

“Well, shit,” Clint says contemplatively as they watch the doors seal shut again. 

“Okay, we have some kind of disguised underground heliport or something here, and I mean _disguised_ ,” Tony informs the others. “There's fucking grass growing on it. I'd guess it'll be the same thing wherever that Jeep came from, so be careful. Widow… try to contact us when you're in there, but I assume it's shielded, so you'll probably be on your own for a bit. Birdy and I are gonna try and hack our way inside on this end. Thor, Bruce– tell me if you find the door the Jeeps are using on your end.”

“Watch your six,” Clint adds. “If this were _my_ secret underground bunker, I'd have hidden cameras around the perimeter.”

***


	19. Chapter 19

Clint's right– there are hidden cameras around the perimeter. He sneaks ahead after telling Tony to stay put, because, once again… nope, not subtle. Tony really, really, _really_ needs to put in those panels. Anyway, Clint, being versed in many and multiple ways of getting places he's not supposed to be, successfully reconnaissances the woods surrounding the clearing, finds the cameras, and guides Tony in through their blind spots. It's a forest, so there's plenty of cover and limited range for the cameras to move, but it's still a bit of a hassle. But once they're crouching behind one of the damn things, Tony removes a glove, wriggles his fingers, and gets to work with a grin. If it's electronic, he can hack it. It takes him a few minutes, but he loops the feed, and then it takes them a few more minutes to find an access panel for the doors. The soil and plants are kept on top of it with some kind of dense webbing, and only a few blades bent and caught at the edges shows where the seams are, pretty much impossible to spot if you're not already looking for it. 

But they _are_ looking for it, and so Tony finds the metal structure underneath, and at one edge a people-sized hatch. It's locked, of course, but it's not like that's gonna stop him. 

Meanwhile, Bruce reports that they saw the Jeep enter another gate, one that's disguised as a rock face via RF panels, it sounds like. He and Thor stay way back and off the road for the time being, but they did see armed guards talking to the driver before the gate slid shut again. Nat doesn't call in, so Tony assumes he's right and the facility is shielded. 

“Alright, gang,” he tells everyone when he's convinced the hatch to open. “Me and Clint are gonna go in. If you don't hear from us in half an hour, Bruce, go green and bust down that gate.”

It's not the most sophisticated of plans, but since they have no idea what's waiting for them down there, and how big the complex is, there's not much point in worrying about it. 

The shaft is concrete, with a ladder of steel handholds to one side. It's all in good condition, no rust or anything. Clint happens to have a handy little spray bottle on him to create a bit of mist to check for such inconvenient security measures like laser grids, and makes his way down first. It's not too deep, Tony sees when Clint switches on his flash-light, maybe ten feet. Once he's safely at the bottom and gives Tony the all clear, Tony fires his thrusters and manoeuvres into the shaft, closes the hatch over his head and flies down, slow and careful as he can, and lands with barely a clank.

Inside, it's concrete walls and coloured lines on the walls and floor for navigation. The corridor they're in is short and leads to a large, open space that was obviously where that quinjet was parked. There's no one around, and Tony spies what looks like a control room overlooking the garage, glass windows overlooking the open space, computer terminals in the background. 

“Jackpot,” he grins. He tries the coms, but as he thought– nothing. Well, not from Bruce and Thor. He does get Nat. 

“What are you doing here?” she hisses. 

“Infiltrating,” he retorts. “Don't worry, your boyfriend's with me, he'll make sure I play by your super secret spy rules. I see a control room, I'm gonna go and hack into their systems and try and find out where they're keeping Cap.”

“Be careful,” she returns. “They're shutting this place down, the boss is already gone, from what I've heard, so there's a lot of confusion, but they still have pretty heavy security.”

“Noted,” Tony tells her. “Oh, and also, if they don't hear from us, Thor and the Hulk are gonna break down the door in half an hour.”

Nat curses in Russian. “That's not… Do you know how big this place is?! What if we haven't found them by then?”

“Since we didn't know how big or dangerous it was gonna be, and how long we could stay under the radar, I had to make a guess! And once I have my hands on a computer networked into their internal system, Cap's as good as found.”

Nat grumbles, but there's nothing to be done about it now anyway, so they agree to call in again if and when they find something.

***

The fog is thick, so thick Steve can barely make out the trees along the side of the road, so thick it swallows his feet, swallows the whole world. A shadow walks in front of him, stops and looms up, a smiling familiar face – Bucky. But, no, not Bucky. Bucky isn't Bucky, he needs to remember that. And the trees aren't trees. He doesn't remember how they aren't trees, not quite right now, only that they aren't trees and they scare him. And the fog isn't fog. He has to remember that.

He doesn't feel good. Only, no, he doesn't actually _feel_ it, he doesn't feel much of anything beyond the fog, beyond a vague damp chill, but though he doesn't know a lot, can't remember a lot, doesn't know where he is and how he got there, he _knows_ he's not well. 

“Hey, Stevvie, c'mon,” Bucky (not Bucky) says. “We're almost there, c'mon, just a little bit longer.” 

Steve nods (does he? He thinks he does), and doesn't ask where “there” is, just trudges on. (Does he?)

A second (an eternity?) later, he wonders if the fog is getting darker. Then there's a tremor, a tremble, it's so far away but he's _sure_ , he's sure he felt something. Bucky turns again, smiles at him again, encouraging and familiar. His face flickers and wavers, like the lines running across a faulty screen (screen? Bucky and the kind of screen he's thinking of don't belong together) and for a moment, it's not Bucky. It's a man he's never seen, narrow face and light brown hair, but it's gone in less than a blink. 

But distant, so distant, he hears a sound, a beeping. And… voices? Far away, like he's at the bottom of a well, echoing and muffled. 

“… have to get out of here...” one says. 

“… shoot him up...” says another. 

“… not terminate…? … unique chance...”

“… delay… escape...” 

“It's okay, pal,” says Bucky, clear as day, places a warm hand on Steve's shoulder. “You should get some rest.”

The fog darkens and spins, slowly, syrupy and sickening, and Steve lets go of consciousness.

***

The next time he's aware of something, there are trees. He feels a sick jerk of fear in his stomach, but these trees are different. There's no fog, and the trunks are brown and green and grey, there're twigs with green leaves. His head aches and swims, nausea burns in his throat, and everything is swaying drunkenly– no, maybe he's moving? There's metal under his arm, hard and slick around his wrist, around his waist. He's cold, and little bits of wood and leaf litter bite into his toes where they're dragging along the soft, moist ground.

“Hey there, big guy,” a familiar voice says. “You with us?” 

Lifting his drooping head and sliding his eyes to the side is almost impossible, but he catches a glimpse of red-and-gold faceplate. He tries to reply, but isn't sure he manages. Maybe he passes out again, because the next thing he knows, there's a clearing, and a figure in green and gold– Loki. Loki's rising from his sprawl along a fallen tree trunk, and… that's a good sign, right? Something about Loki being there is a good thing. He can't remember why. 

There's movement around him, more people, and someone places Steve's hand on Loki's forearm, on cool gold armour. The hand on his is pale and slender, much smaller than his. Then the world goes away in a swirl and Steve feels so sick, and he gives up again and slides back into blackness.

***

“I believe you promised me a meal,” Loki says from his sprawl on one of the couches. His knees are spread in a way even Tony'd call indecent and he has one arm up along the backrest– behind Thor, actually, who's sitting beside him, leaning forward, blond strands shielding his face as he studies his folded hands, forearms propped on his thighs. At the mention of food, he looks up, reluctant hope breaking through his sorrowful expression.

Tony gives Loki narrow eyes on principle, gets a slim, black eyebrow arched at him for his trouble, so he turns his attention to Thor and finds a smile for him somewhere. And he did promise Loki food, after all. 

He glances around at the others. Bruce is huddled into a corner of one of the other couches, eyes closed, headphones on, huddled in the blanket Nat's wrapped around his shoulders solicitously. Nat, for her part, is leaning with her back against Clint's shoulder further down the same couch, her feet up on the cushions not far from Bruce's side. She's sifting through what Tony managed to download from the base on a tablet. Clint's watching the tablet's screen, too, over her head. 

“Food, sure,” Tony declares. They can all use it and maybe it'll even help with the dark mood hovering over them. Tony's not sure how long they've all sat there in silence, but brooding isn't doing anyone any good. 

Tony feels a sick, dark twist in his stomach as he remembers how they found Steve: strapped to a sort of upright stainless steel table, tubes feeding who knows what kind of drugs into both arms, electrodes connecting him to a bank of monitoring equipment, and some kind of machinery wrapped around his head, the design unfamiliar even to Tony. There was a second head-set on a table next to him, and a large screen to the side. Steve was white as a ghost, his lips colourless. For that very first moment when Tony blasted open the door to that room and saw him hanging there in the restraints, he thought Steve was dead. But, no, the heart monitor he was hooked up to still filled the room with an unsteady beeping. 

All Steve wore were some kind of flimsy white scrub bottoms, and his skin was covered in sickly sweat. His ribs were more prominent than the last time Tony saw him, some of the definition faded from that perfect super soldier body, his cheeks hollow, and black shadows under his closed eyes. 

The IV needles were partially ingrown as the skin had started healing over them. The blood was stark and red against the pale skin when Tony ripped them out. Lines and spikes fluttered unevenly over the screens watching over his vitals. He was a limp weight against Tony's shoulder as he and Nat took him between them. 

Whoever'd done this to their Captain had turned all the IV valves open all the way and bugged out. It couldn't be more than a few minutes and they were probably still in the complex, but it didn't take more than a look for Tony and the assassin twins to decide that getting Cap the hell out and to medical attention took priority– which probably was the point. If they'd wanted Steve dead, after all, nothing would've stopped them from putting a bullet into his head before making their escape. 

The thought sits heavy in Tony's stomach, sour with the taste of failure. He found Cap's and Sam's locations quickly enough once he was in the system, even though that system was disintegrating around him, thanks to a virus set loose on it designed to destroy every byte of data– thoroughly. It'd been triggered before they ever set foot into the base, and a self-destruct countdown was already active, too. One that was too well protected for Tony to hack in the time they had left when they had other priorities. So he grabbed whatever data he still could while he sorted out the shortest route to Cap and Sam and coordinated a meet-up with Nat on the way. 

The self-destruct gave them almost another forty minutes, but the whole complex was a rabbit warren of miles of corridors and plenty of choke points. Tony did manage to take down the jamming equipment that prevented them from communicating to outside, so when they did inevitably run into the first group of evacuating Hydra soldiers and the jig was up, he gave Thor and Bruce the go ahead to attack. It worked, drew most of the soldiers away from their position, but even so they had to fight their way through every now and then, not to mention blast through several security doors that were a challenge even to Tony's repulsors. It all served to slow them down and it took them almost fifteen minutes to reach the cell block where they were keeping Sam. 

Sam's okay, for a certain definition of the word: He has bruises from the rough treatment of the guards, has had barely enough to eat and drink to keep him alive. And Tony's the last person to dismiss the damage imprisonment can do. But they didn't mess with his head, didn't torture him– they only had one of the memory machine things, Sam told them on the way out of the base, and they figured Cap had the more valuable information, so they started with him. Apparently didn't want to or couldn't unhook him before they were done, either.  
From the cell blocks, it was only another corridor to the lab where they kept Steve– and what the hell is wrong with people, that they think labs and prisoners go together when they plan out their secret bases?

Their way out was uneventful– disappointingly so. Tony _really_ wanted to shoot something by that point, after seeing the condition Steve was in, (still does, come to think of it,) but what with the self-destruct winding down, anyone who didn't have a run-in with the Avengers had legged it to garages and secret exits. 

They met up with Thor, who had a sleeping Bruce slung over his shoulder, shortly before they reached the clearing where Loki was waiting. And Tony was glad Bruce had already de-Hulked. If he'd seen Steve hanging pale and limp from Tony's shoulder, they'd've never calmed him down. Behind them, there was a dull roar, a tremor shivering through the ground as the self-destruct activated and the entire complex collapsed– Tony'd love have the whole thing excavated, but it's on foreign soil, and without SHIELD to throw their weight around, he doesn't see how he could swing that, and there was no way to do something like that in secret even in a region as remote as this. Also, he's kinda sure Hydra would have people in place to keep an eye on this site. So even if, say, SI suddenly mentioned an interest in acquiring large stretches of Belarusian forest, he doesn't think that'd fly. 

So all that was left was to have Loki take them back, and get Steve to Medical ASAP– yes, Tony's equipped the Tower with it's own mini-hospital, the doctors vetted within an inch of their lives, because with their occupation? That was just sensible. So they handed Steve and Sam over, and sat around the waiting room long enough for the first test results to come back. Sam's only going to be there overnight for observation, but Steve… Proper blood tests take some time, but at first glance he's got enough sedatives floating around his system to kill an elephant where it stands, and who knows what else. It'll take days to sort it all out. Also, brain damage. Whatever that machine did to him, there were words like “lesions” and “temporal lobe” and “visual cortex”, and Tony considers it a good thing Bruce was still out at that point. _He_ felt like Hulking out and smashing something. 

In short, Steve shouldn't be alive. The fact that he _is_ makes the doctors cautiously optimistic– if the serum's been up to the job of keeping him breathing and functioning so far, it'll probably keep doing that now that he's receiving proper care. How permanent any damage will be… no one can say right now. After all, they haven't found the limits to the serum yet. And Tony sure hopes they aren't about to. 

But, yes, food, to take everyone's mind off things, refuel. 

“Got any problem with fish, raw and otherwise? Rice?” he asks Loki, whose eyebrows scrunch together in the middle quizzically, (it's not fucking cute, okay?), shakes his head. “Good,” Tony declares, rubs his hands together. “Japanese it is. You don't like it, speak now or forever hold your peace.” No one objects. “JARVIS, call that nice place, you know the one I mean. Everything on the menu, plus extra spring rolls for everyone, and miso soup, and triple some of the sushi, and extra yakitori for Thor, and loads of rice, or course.”

“Of course, Sir,” JARVIS answers. It's good to have an AI that remembers everyone's sushi preferences, Tony reflects, because he sure doesn't, except that Nat will kill you if you eat the last California roll. 

“Anyway,” he informs Loki, “Thor said you'd like it, so...”

And suddenly, it's awkward, as Loki blinks and gives Thor a look, and Thor grins in a way that's both sheepish and pained, shrugs his shoulders. 

“First time he had sushi,” Tony says, because if he says something to make things weird, he keeps talking– yeah, he's aware it's maybe not the best of strategies, but it just happens. “He said it reminded him of something you liked, some Alfheim thing or another.”

“It is much like Lakisyna, a particular favourite of yours,” Thor says. 

“So it is,” Loki agrees, and leaves it at that, but the way he's looking at Thor… Yeah, they're having a moment there.

***

The food, when it arrives an hour later, does help. Picking through the spread and squabbling over bites distracts them from the fact that Steve's downstairs in a hospital bed, throws a veneer of normalcy over the day. Loki masters chopsticks with unfair ease, but at least he has no complaints about inferior Earth food or the like. Amusingly enough, he seems to share Thor's fondness for yakitori as well as trying his way through all the sushi. He doesn't splutter over the wasabi, either, as Tony'd secretly hoped– merely hums thoughtfully, head tilted, and then adds some more to his current piece of tuna sushi.

Also, Tony should definitely stop watching Loki eat. The way his lips wrap around his chopsticks has no business being attractive. And Tony has no business watching it. 

God, he _wants_ the man. It's ridiculous! How long has Loki even been around, since this all started? Two weeks, three? And, okay, that's about a thousand percent more exposure to Loki than he had during the invasion, and even _then_ he was aware the guy was sexy (if you liked them psychotic and murderous), but _still_. 

Of course, maybe it's better to distract himself with how pretty Loki is when he takes a dainty, controlled bite of rice than to brood over how Cap's doing, or whether they could've found him sooner, or what would've happened if they'd found him later (like, say, if Loki _hadn't_ teleported them)… Yes. Much better to focus on the food. The food, and not the way Loki eats it.

***

The mood's still decidedly subdued when they finish, but it's better than it was. Bruce is less grey around the edges as he gathers leftovers and takes them to the fridge, and Thor's almost back to his usual good cheer as he gives him a hand. Loki watches his brother carry a stack of dirty plates with a contemplative expression for a moment, then turns back to Tony, leans forward with his hands folded between his knees.

“So. What news of the Sceptre, then?” he asks, and Tony realizes with a start that, no, they haven't actually updated Loki on that front, and also, Loki didn't _ask_ , even though it's been hours. 

Tony runs a hand over his face, sinks back against the couch cushions. “I think they were moving it out of the place, but their transport got hit. Someone took it.” He tells Loki what Nat and the others found on the road. “Pretty sure that's why they were shutting down the base– the self-destruct was activated before we ever got there.” 

Loki huffs out a frustrated breath. “So, once more, the damned thing is in the wind, and this time, we have no idea who is actually responsible?”

“Yeah, well… Looks like,” Tony agrees. 

Loki's eyes narrow shrewdly, and Tony meets them head-on, and… he doesn't know what Loki sees in his expression, apparently not the casualness he was going for, because he cocks his head, leans back and shrugs a little. 

“I suppose we'll have to see what turns up, then,” he says, and yeah, he definitely caught something from Tony there, because considering how he reacted before, he's _waay_ too calm. 

Tony shrugs as well. “Yeah.” 

Thankfully, Thor rounds the couch before they can get more than a few seconds into a staring match. “I am sorry we could not find the Sceptre,” he says, claps one of his big hands on Loki's shoulder as he takes a seat. “But we shall not give up our quest for it.”

Loki waves a hand dismissively. “There's nothing to be done about it now. Stark tells me we've rather lost the trail of it for the moment. I've decided to turn my attention to the other missing Stones, instead.”

“Will you be leaving, then?” Thor asks, and he definitely tries for neutral, but the pleading blue puppy dog eyes give him away. 

Loki gives a quiet, humorous snort, meets Tony's eyes for a moment. “Well, I can hardly occupy Stark's guest room indefinitely– I wouldn't want to impose.” He smirks as he says it, because, yeah… sure, he might've invaded the planet with aliens at some point but he wouldn't want to _impose_ – sure. Tony rolls his eyes at him. 

“I appreciate your coming,” Thor says, so sincere it's almost painful. “While I know how much you value your own space, please know that you are always welcome in my rooms here, and indeed in any place I shall ever live.”

Loki arches his eyebrows in that way of his, high in the middle of his forehead as he looks at Thor, then he gives a short chuckle, claps Thor on the shoulder in turn. “Oh, Brother. Whatever shall I do with you? You and your lofty, short-sighted promises.”

Thor grins. “Ah, well, I suppose you'll have to stay by my side to make sure I do not make them to the wrong person.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “Not subtle, Brother, not subtle _at all_.”

“I've never claimed to be subtle,” Thor retorts dryly, then wraps his hand around Loki's neck in a short squeeze, climbs back to his feet, and… leans down to drop a short kiss against the top of Loki's head. “I'll leave you to your research and solitude. Good-bye, Brother.” 

Tony blinks, Thor strides off (is that a smirk? That is definitely a smirk on his face), and Loki looks like a ruffled cat, all tight shoulders and outrage. 

“ _Not_ a word...!” he tells Tony, threat thrumming darkly in his voice, and Tony spreads his hands in surrender while smirking like the asshole he is. Then he realizes he's alone with Loki as everyone's apparently decided to disappear to their own floors when he wasn't looking, and the distance between the two couches suddenly seems a lot smaller, the coffee table between them a lot less of an obstacle. 

He needs a drink. Yes, he definitely needs a drink. Behind his nice, solid bar. Loki can just see himself out– it's what he does anyway. 

Tony stands, doesn't give Loki's couch any sort of exaggerated berth, and strides determinately across the room, fetches himself a glass and pulls the stopper from the decanter. 

When he looks up, Loki's turned around to watch him over the back of the couch, armoured forearm along the back of it beneath his chin. The green fabric and black leather and golden vambrace is stark against his white upholstery, entirely out of place. 

Then Loki rises to his feet as well, prowls towards him, manages to be casual and predatory all at the same time. 

“Well, Stark. How about that drink? I believe you still owe me one.”

“I don't owe you anything,” Tony objects. 

Loki tsks at him, the condescending asshole. “That's not very hospitable of you.”

“You threw me out a fucking window.” Tony points out, gives him a glare. 

Loki has the gall to look abashed. “Ah, yes. That. I do apologize. My temper got the better of me. If it's any consolation, I was at least partially sure that you wouldn't be nearly so easy to get rid of.”

“It's not,” Tony shoots back. “A consolation, that is. We're 60 stories up! And my own fucking window! You,” he points at Loki, “are a dick, I hope you know that.”

Loki slinks up to the bar top, casually leans a hip against it, chuckles and grins toothily, arms loosely crossed over his chest. 

“I have been informed, yes.” The look he gives Tony is mischievous, invites him to share the joke. “In many creative and colourful ways, on many occasions. Does that preclude my taking you up on that drink?” He bats his lashes at Tony. He _freaking_ bats his lashes at Tony! If he didn't know better, Tony would suspect he's being flirted with. 

“It does.” Tony pours two fingers of amber liquid for himself, takes a healthy swig. “Get the hell out of my house.” He motions with the bottom of the tumbler. “Go on. Shoo.”

Loki huffs, gives him a look that's equal parts wounded and disappointed, and pushes off the counter. “Oh, well. If you insist.”

And just like that, he vanishes. One second he's there, looking at Tony as if _he_ 's the bad guy in this scenario, the next there's nothing but empty space.

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose, then downs the rest of his drink. He has no earthly idea what the fuck is going on anymore.

***


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's my birthday and the chapter happened to be mostly done, so I decided to give you all a present and update early, ;-)

Loki steps back into the world in his apartment, chuckles a little to himself as he brushes his clothes and armour away with a breath of magic. Oh, the look on Stark's face… 

He stretches, throws another bit of magic at the bathtub to set it to filling, looks around. Fates, he hasn't been here in over a _week_. Damn mortals. He has half a mind to put tracking spells on the lot of them. And the _days_ he's spent attempting to track down the Captain… He is powerful. A few minor scrying spells and a bit of teleportation across these negligible distances shouldn't prove a challenge for the man who wanders the branches of Yggdrasil and the universe with no assistance but his own strength. And it is true– his power reserves are barely tapped. But he has to admit, he's exhausted. Not physically, not magically, but mentally. Days of concentration as he searches through the ever-shifting not-noise of the planes for a mind he barely knows… And the sheer, artificial _wrongness_ of the environment these mortals created to keep the Captain's consciousness trapped in, all bitter taste and sharp edges... And transporting the Avengers back and forth had admittedly cost him more than he'd have expected. To keep their energies in check and moving into the right direction, while avoiding the notice of all who would watch, from Heimdall to the Mad Titan… Delicate work. The spies were easy enough, light and mortal. Thor had the benefit of familiarity, but he was still a bundle of wild, jagged energy that did not like to be directed by other forces, like cupping his hands around live lightning. Stark burned, bright and red and golden, Extremis flowing through him– power Loki'd touched before, also granting him a bonus of knowledge, and Stark's mind, while unrefined and blind to the strings Loki wove, was curious enough to follow along quite happily, if clumsily, where they led. And then, of course, the beast, probably the worst of them: a dense, green fog of poison that should've killed everything it touched, should've killed the man it clung to, but had instead fused with his anger to bring forth what lay slumbering in the shadowy corners of the doctor's fractured mind. It did not like imposition, it did not like to be led, it did not like to yield to any will or power outside itself– and neither did the man who housed it, for all the quiet he affected. 

So different, all of them, and he had juggled, contained, cajoled, lured, pushed and prodded and convinced to get them all where they needed to go, to move them sideways through time and space, through the loose places in the weave, had made sure no pieces were lost where they did not belong. 

No, he tells himself, he will avoid transporting the Avengers again if he can help it. They are too disparate, too… He sighs a little as he makes his way into the bathroom. Yes, it needs admitting: They are too powerful to make a habit of this. 

The warm water is heavenly. The tub is nowhere near reasonable in size ( _Stark_ would hardly find enough room in it, surely) but hot water is hot water, and it relaxes his muscles where he's held himself too tense for too long. He conjures a sprinkle of his favourite bath salts into the water, breathes deep of the resulting steam, feels the pounding between his temples ease. 

He needs sleep, without interruption by alarms and without Stark's construct's eyes on him. At least the dinner was satisfactory– _very_ satisfactory, in fact. As was, he smirks a little with his eyes closed, the way Stark's eyes flickered his way every now and then. 

It's been too long since someone has looked at Loki with desire, and Stark is obviously unused to needing to hide such thoughts.

He's also, Loki acknowledges, rather beautiful, with his even features and dark eyes. And that beard, framing his expressive mouth ever so well… Loki grins, stretches as much as the tub will allow him, relaxes back into the heat and steam that are curling his hair against his cheeks and temples. It really has been far too long since he's had a little _fun_.

***

Tony's migrated back to the couches with his glass and a bottle, sips tiredly while not-watching whatever JARVIS's put on for him on the TV– it's just noise to let his mind wander to while he finds comfort in the familiar taste and burn of alcohol. This would definitely be the kind of day he'd be getting drunk after in the old days, but, alas– he's cured himself of that. Probably for the best, really, but that doesn't mean he doesn't miss it.

He's… yeah, tired sums it up pretty well. The mission itself wasn't that bad– just a few hours, and the adrenalin pretty much wipes everything from his mind when he's in the middle of a fight. It's the before and after that drives him crazy, the times when he has the _time_ to worry– like now. He should finish the quinjet, who knows when the next emergency pops up, and he already has JARVIS running calculations for those RF panels for the suit, but… It's been days. He's had times where he's slept less than he did this time, but the gnawing worry about not knowing which state they'd find Steve in is a lot more draining than the creative mania he can slip in when he's working on a brilliant new idea. Not that knowing about Cap's state is doing much for his peace of mind, right now. 

He tells himself the doctors are optimistic, he tells himself Cap's survived worse than this– surely someone who survived being deep frozen for seventy years without proper cryo equipment, and the _thawing up_ after, isn't going to be taken down by a little brain-frying via alien technology. He's pretty sure it's alien, anyway. He's the top R &D guy for the top technology company in the world– yeah, if anyone's up to date on what's possible with their current knowledge, if anyone knows what state of the art and then some means– it's him. This stuff? This stuff shouldn't be possible. 

Just like Barnes' arm. Just like a lot of the stuff lying around here and there in S.H.I.E.L.D. storage, referenced in the S.H.I.E.L.D. files. It started with the tesseract technology Hydra developed in the 40s, and it sure as hell didn't stop there. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s been collecting all sorts of odds and ends, and a lot of them aren't made in China– or on Earth. And of course, Hydra's had access to this stuff for seventy or so years. 

Tony doesn't really like to wonder about what else they might have up their sleeves. 

Maybe he should ask Thor for an evaluation. Space viking or not, he _is_ from an advanced civilisation. 

Only, Thor isn't exactly the most… tech savvy of guys. He did alright learning to use toasters and phones and whatnot, but he doesn't really have any enthusiasm for it. He learned what he needed to do what he needed, but no more than that. 

No, if he wants the guy with the inquisitive mind, he probably ought to ask Loki. 

Ugh, Loki. Tony huffs out a deep breath, takes a deeper drink from his glass. Now there– now there is a really _bad idea_. 

Yeah, bad idea all around. Loki's far too _interesting_ for Tony's good. Far too sexy, too. And far, far too powerful in every way imaginable, and far too unreliable, too. 

Loki has his own agenda. Loki's here because he needs a big bad killed, and he needs help to do it– or so he says. But even if that is true, there's no reason for him not to go back to his world-conquering ways once they're rid of the Thanos dude. 

Like Bruce said, the guy's brain is a bag of cats. 

Yeah, Tony's tired. He just.. he just can't deal with Loki maybe possibly flirting with him tonight. Tomorrow. He'll think about it and what it could mean and what he should do tomorrow. Or never. Never's good, too. 

So when JARVIS announces “Miss Potts on her way to see you, Sir” and the elevator dings, proceeded by the click of heels on the hardwood flooring, Tony's glad to put his glass down and get up to greet her. 

“Tony?” she asks, amused and indulgent, when he promptly pulls her into his arms, breathes in the scent of her, expensive perfume and shampoo and a touch of her own scent under it from a long day at the office. 

“Hmm,” he makes. 

He feels her hands run up the back of his neck, comb through his hair. “Aww,” she says, draws his head down to her shoulder, kisses the top of it. 

He nuzzles against her happily, drops a kiss against her neck. 

“Nat's texted me about Steve and Sam,” she says while her fingers keep running through his hair. “You did good, Tony.”

That surprises a small laugh out of him– one that's not entirely happy. “Should've been there earlier.”

“Oh, shush,” she chides. “You did the best you could, and they're going to be alright.” She doesn't give him time to protest, either, takes his face into her hands to kiss him on the forehead, then steps away while she grips one of his hands tight. “Come on. We both need a shower.”

Well, Tony certainly does, and if she's joining him he's definitely not complaining, so he follows along as she leads him to the elevator.

***

Upstairs in the bathroom of his penthouse, he helps her out of her jacket and unbuttons her blouse while they kiss, her small hand against his cheek. Her mouth is warm and soft and exactly what he needs.

They shed clothes, his t-shirt, jeans and trainers in a pile on the floor, her business suit more carefully folded on the seat of the toilet. Tony steps into the shower, turns the water on good and hot, just holds his face up into the stinging spray for a few moments, scrubs his hands through his hair to wet it thoroughly. Pepper joins him, and he makes room for her under the water as he grabs shampoo and body wash. It doesn't take him long to wash up and rinse off, and he grabs Pepper's soap while she's still busy with her hair. Her skin is smooth and silky as he runs his soapy hands down her back and along her sides. He steps up as close behind her as he can without getting hit in the face by her hair as she rinses the shampoo out, follows the curve of her hips to her belly, up over her ribs and breasts, then down to her thighs. 

She sighs happily, pulls her hair over one shoulder and leans back into him. 

He turns her around, wraps his arms around her and pulls her in tight, mouths at her shoulder, feels the softness of her breasts against his chest. He runs his hands down the warm, wet curve of her back, cups them around the slim roundness of her buttocks. Her arms are around his shoulders in turn, she leans into him and hugs him back, rubs her hands over the top of his shoulders and the back of his neck and up into his wet hair. She laughs a little breathlessly when he presses another kiss to her shoulder, scratches his beard along the tender skin, gropes her, and she pushes him off a little. 

“Alright, time to take this to the bedroom, I think,” she tells him with a smile when he gives her a questioning and only slightly betrayed look. 

“Or we could do it right here,” he points out, because he's getting hard and he only wants to lose himself in the physicality of sex. 

But Pepper just rolls her eyes at him, pushes him another half-step backwards so he has to slide his hands to her hips instead. 

“Tony, I know you,” she tells him with fond exasperation. “You haven't slept properly in days – you're going to pass right out, and I'm not hauling your half-conscious ass to bed.”

Well. She probably has a point. 

Tony turns off the water and they step out to towel off– distractedly, on Tony's part, 'cause he's too busy admiring her slender form in the warm bathroom lights, the grace in her movements as she rubs fluffy white fabric economically over her body, along her legs. Finished, she pulls his own towel out of his hands, flicks her eyes over him with mischievous appreciation, and then tows him into the bedroom behind her by one hand. 

Not that he's resisting. At all. (Mostly he's watching her ass, honestly.)

She slides between his sheets, and he pauses just long enough to grab a condom out of the night stand drawer and drop it on the top of it before he follows her. 

The sheets are delightfully cool and smooth against his skin, the mattress soft and inviting, and, yeah, he's tired. Not quite yet, though– he pulls Pepper back into his arms, into a kiss, and she moves to straddle his lap as their mouths meet. 

He moans his delight, runs greedy hands along her skin, feels her nails prickle against his scalp as she fists a hand in his hair, the other moving just as restlessly as his to stroke his chest, his shoulders, his back. 

“Tony,” she breathes, and maybe they're not dating anymore, but there's still longing in her voice, still emotion. 

“Pep,” he returns, hears the gruff scratch in it. She rests her forehead against his for a moment, the space between their faces close and intimate, the air they breathe shared. 

“I'm glad you're okay,” she tells him, then kisses him again, undulates against him impatiently. 

He reaches for the condom blindly with one hand, kisses his way along her jaw and down her neck, along her shoulders, her hair heavy and damp against his face, his other hand kneading her ass, stroking along her thigh. Then he moves it between her legs, rips the foil open with his teeth, meets her eyes as he does. She tries to roll her eyes at him, but he _knows_ her, knows where to put his fingers and circle, knows how much pressure she likes– also knows that it actually does turn her on when he gives her the dark, heated bedroom look. So her attempt at exasperation is derailed by a moan, undermined by the way she squirms against him, tightens her fingers in his hair. 

He dips his head to brush his lips over the top of her breast, light and teasing at first, then harder, while he gets himself covered with one hand and works her open with the other. 

Yeah, he's that good– hey, he works with his hands, he has lots of dexterity. Also, a lot of practise in anything sex-related. 

A fact which Pepper's not complaining about– the touch of his own fingers on his cock is quickly followed by the heat of her body as she brushes his hand aside and rises up a little, slides down with a gasp. He brings his hands around to grip her ass, moans at the slick pressure, drops his head to her shoulder, rolls his hips up into her. 

They settle into a rhythm, easy and undulating. He stares into her beautiful green eyes, kisses whatever skin he can reach, the freckles on her cheeks and the delicate curve of her jaw, her soft pink lips, her slender neck, her slim shoulders, mouths at the strands of her hair, copper and gold in the light. 

He loves her. God, he loves her. 

And they can still do this. Their failed relationship didn't break them, she's still here, she's still his friend, his best friend, and he knows he's a selfish ass, but this, _this_ he's grateful beyond measure for. 

She's still here to tell him when he's being an idiot, to roll her eyes at him and keep his ego in check, to tell him 'no' when he needs to hear it. 

There's still a wealth of emotion in her eyes, a gentleness under the physical pleasure, in the way she cups one hand over his cheek. 

He hugs her tight, listens to her gasps and quiet moans mixing with his own heavy breath, smells the scents of sweat and sex and latex mingling with shampoos and soap. Her fair skin is flushed pink, and as she starts moving with more urgency, he moves his hands to her breasts to play with her nipples, strokes along the sensitive underside and along her ribs in the way he knows she likes– she doesn't like his hands between her legs when she's this close, prefers firm, long strokes along the front of her body and, yes, for him to put his mouth right there under the corner of her jaw as she throws her head back, suck gently– no hickeys, but the scrape of his beard is welcome between kisses. 

She comes with a beautiful little cry and Tony holds himself back, dares himself to last just another second longer, to let her ride out even the last shiver before he lets himself go. 

“Love you,” he tells her when they're a warm, sweaty tangle under the sheets, condom tied off and disposed of. He kisses her shoulder. 

“Tony...” she sighs, and he meets her eyes, shakes his head. 

“I'm not asking to try again, or anything,” he assures her. “I just… I'm just glad you're here, and I love you, and I thought you should know that. Just in case you didn't.”

She sighs again, pecks him on the lips. “You're impossible, and you drive me _mad_ ,” she informs him. “But I love you, too.” Then she pulls his head down, kisses him on the forehead as well, and tells him: “Now shut up and go to sleep. You need it.” 

“Yes, ma'am,” he quips, but she's right, as usual– sleep. Sleep is good.

***

He wakes up hours later, _many_ hours later, clear-headed and well-rested, morning light filling the room. Pepper's seated at the edge of the bed, already dressed and styled, putting on her shoes. He rolls over and slings an arm around her middle, nuzzles into her hip.

“Do you have to go?” he asks, voice rough with sleep. “What time is it anyway?”

“It's seven-thirty, and yes, I do,” she tells him. “I have a 9 o'clock flight– the business trip to China, if you remember.”

He didn't, not until she mentioned it just now, but now that she says it, he remembers something that'll take her out of the country for a few weeks. “It's your plane,” he points out. “It's not like they're gonna leave without you. Come on, how about another round? And breakfast in bed. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know.” He thinks he sounds pretty persuasive, gives her his most charming grin and inviting look in addition. 

Pepper, of course, is entirely immune to his charms, and just rolls her eyes at him. “Unlike _some_ people,” she tells him tartly, “I'm not going to abuse my position to make everyone wait for an hour while I amuse myself.” She leans down to kiss him briefly. “I'm going now. I'd ask you to keep me updated on how Steve is doing, but you're going to vanish into your workshop and forget all about the rest of the world, so I'll just text Natasha. Remember, though, there's the Young Talent benefit on Friday that we're sponsoring. And, yes, you said you were going to do a speech, so yes, you have to go. I've told JARVIS to remind you in time to get ready.”

Tony groans unhappily. “Yes, yes, I'll do the speech– which you bullied me into agreeing to, don't even pretend you didn't, that totally wasn't my idea.”

“You decided we needed to do more to support aspiring young scientists from less fortunate backgrounds– which I approve of, by the way –so you get to do the speech.”

“I just wanted to throw money at them,” Tony complains. “That's what I do! It's easy! It doesn't say anywhere that that means I have to give a speech and go to a boring party.”

“Sometimes, it does.” She gives him a stern look. “Promise me you'll go.”

“Yes, I promise, I'll be a good boy. Now, if you're only going to nag and not going to get me laid again get out of here.”

She rolls her eyes again, stands, brushes her hands down her sides to smooth out any wrinkles, and leans down to kiss him on the forehead. “Behave. I'll see you in a few weeks.”

“I'll be good,” he assures her. The look she gives him says she doesn't believe him, but she strides out anyway, heels clicking, head held high, ponytail curled tamely over her shoulder. Tony watches the neat, subtle sway of her backside, and falls back when she shuts the door behind herself quietly. He scrubs his hands over his face, misses her already, then rolls out of bed. A shower, coffee, and his workshop. Yep, that's what he needs if he can't have sex. JARVIS updates him on Steve's condition while he's on his way to the bathroom– no change, he's resting, though the test results should start coming in during the course of the morning.

***

By the time Nat calls him to let him know Sam's up and about and they're having a debriefing upstairs, he's caffeinated and grease-stained, and the quinjet is finished. Well, the RF panels are on, he's still planning to upgrade the interior. Surely no one'll complain about something that's more private jet and less military transport.

The debriefing, thankfully, isn't too long. It's the first time Tony actually meets Sam Wilson properly, and by the perplexed look he gets when he shakes the man's hand, he's just ruined some expectations. Tony smirks a little. He tends to do that when he runs around in an old t-shirt and washed-out jeans and trainers and smells of engine oil and singed plastic. But Wilson smiles gamely, shakes solidly, and seems to be another one of those all-around nice guys. Tony's not sure why he suddenly knows so many of those. It might have something to do with the whole Superhero gig. 

Anyway, it turns out that in their quest to find Barnes, Steve and Sam more or less stumbled across that Hydra base in Sokovia– they thought they were meeting a contact, but they had just enough time to make out the heavy weaponry the patrons of the bar were carrying before something stabbed them in the neck, and the next thing Sam knows, he was in the cell they found him in with the hangover from hell. From the speed with which they were taken out, Tony and Nat agree that it was probably that speedster kid. There's not many people who can get a jump on Steve with his super-soldier reflexes. 

Judging by the time line, Tony assumes that it was Sam and Steve's sniffing around that led to Hydra burning that base and moving the Sceptre. Just like it probably was the failed hack that made them move it again and blow that bunker yesterday. Damn, but they're jumpy. 

Sam's obviously kept his eyes and ears open while enjoying Hydra hospitality, so they get a name for the guy in charge of that particular outfit– Strucker. Sam's never seen him but it's a start. Also, judging by the shouting and cursing, yeah, they lost the Sceptre. 

While Tony's glad Hydra doesn't have it, and while he's pretty sure about who _does_ have it, it doesn't get them any closer to finding the damn thing, or this Strucker guy, or those two uncomfortably powerful kids that're still out there somewhere. But there's nothing much they can do about any of it right now for lack of valid leads, so they (meaning JARVIS) will just have to keep an eye out until something else pops up. 

In the meantime, Tony can always improve on the suit, and Nat and Clint agree to sift through the data Tony managed to pull from the Hydra servers before the whole thing went bust, and in general it's back to their regularly-scheduled entertainment while they wait for Steve to recover. 

Tony can't say he minds when he can flee to the comfort of his workshop again. What else is he supposed to do? Sit downstairs in Capsicle's hospital room and hold his hand? He doesn't see what good that would do, and also from what he gathers, Wilson's already fulfilling that role quite competently. So he rather buries himself in work and schematics and diagnostics and simulations– things he understands, and if they break, he can do something to fix them.

***


	21. Chapter 21

Two days later, Tony takes a bored sip of his drink and looks around the party for someone who looks like he'd want to talk to them. Everyone loved his speech, of course, and he _does_ want to help the future of science and all, but it's not like these interesting young people are here– these are all Senators and administrators and rich guys like him congratulating themselves on how awesome they are. So it's exactly as dull as he thought it would be. 

He's just contemplating whether he can make his excuses already and leave when he sees her. She's over by the wall, her back to him, and as such gives him a view of a fabulous ass. It's tight and round and pert, hugged by the shimmery fabric of her little black dress, and it's right up there with Nat and Steve, who have some of the finest backsides Tony has ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. 

She's rocking that little black all around, from what Tony can tell. It fits her like a glove, and leaves nothing to the imagination. It's really only a single sheath of black fabric, no straps, no frills. Her waist is lean, but there are muscles under the skin, he can see that from where he's standing. And there's a lot of skin, milky pale, on display. That dress is barely long enough to allow for common decency, and her legs go on forever, strong and shapely. Her shoulders are exquisite, the arch of her neck graceful, accentuated by the artfully messy way her hair is pinned up, black curls escaping strategically. 

Really, Tony has rarely seen a more attractive woman, and he hasn't even seen her face yet. 

And there's a man with her, corpulent, grey-haired, balding, heavy face flushed. He's leaning forward, gesturing with the wide, sloppy motions of the quite drunk, and the woman takes half a step away from him, holds her hands up in denial. He steps closer, grabs one of her wrists. 

Tony smirks a little to himself, takes a sip of his drink, and moves in. 

“I think you should let the lady go,” he says, and the man turns to him, belligerent scowl forming. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony sees how the woman pulls her arm out of his grasp, takes another step back, but his focus is on the man in front of him. If he's ever met him, he can't remember. The man blinks, twice, while Tony holds his eyes, stands casual and ready if this should turn unpleasant. 

Something like recognition creeps across the man's face. “Mr. Stark,” he says, only slurring a little. 

Tony gives him an empty smile. “That's me. Are we good here, or do I need to call security?”

“No, no.” The man darts a quick look at the woman over Tony's shoulder, then lumbers away with a few mumbled words of apology.

Tony watches for a moment to make sure he's really left, then turns to the woman. 

“Why, I thank you,” she purrs, and Tony nearly drops his glass. 

He knows that voice. He knows that smirk. He knows that _face_. 

It's Loki. 

It's very definitely Loki. 

He drops his eyes, runs them along the body before him. Those legs are as endless from the front as they are from the back and even nicer up close. The dress is still very short, clings to a flat stomach and the swell of well-formed breasts. A C-cup, at a guess, and Tony's usually right. Practise and all that. The dress doesn't entirely cover them, either. There's a generous bit of cleavage on display, and not a strap in sight. 

Tony ends his inspection at her... his? face, and it's still Loki. Make-up and all, a sweep of green over her lids, golden eye liner and mascara-d lashes, it's very much Loki. Oh, the jawline is a little more delicate, the bridge of the nose narrower, the lips a little fuller under the deep red lipstick, those killer cheekbones maybe even more exquisite. But the over-all features are the same, the pale green eyes are the same, the amusement in that damn smirk is the same. 

“How does that even stay up?” Tony asks, motions at Loki's chest with the bottom of his glass. 

Loki's grin widens. “Magic.” And, yes, the voice is the same, too, lighter in register, but still entirely recognizable. 

“You could've broken that guy's arm,” Tony observes conversationally. 

Loki shrugs those lovely shoulders. “I could have, yes. But that would hardly be very polite of me, now would it?”

Tony should leave. Tony should turn around and go. Loki's messing with him. Loki's entire purpose to be here is likely to mess with him. Hell, who knows, he might've staged this entire encounter. 

Only, now Tony's curious. And, yes, he knows what they say about curiosity and cats, thank you very much. 

“So.” He takes another sip of his drink. “You're a woman now?”

Loki leans a shoulder against the wall, crosses … _her_ legs. She's wearing fashionable black ankle boots with an inch of heel. 

“At the moment,” she replies.

“Like... completely?” And, whoops, Tony's staring at Loki's crotch. He drags his eyes back up, to find Loki laughing at him, not out loud, but with bright eyes and a wide grin. 

She leans forward, closer. 

“Entirely,” she assures him conspiratorially and with a smirk. 

“Any particular reason why?”

She uncrosses her legs lazily, pushes off the wall to step even closer. “I wished to see if it would please you.”

Tony clears his throat. There's parts of his anatomy that are definitely pleased. 

Loki cocks her head, gives him a smile that's... coy. That's the only word for it. “Maybe this way, you will be more inclined to give me that drink you promised me.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “No drink,” he says firmly. 

Loki pouts. Yes, she does. And it has no business being even remotely adorable. 

Then she throws her head up, sniffs, waves a hand. “Oh, very well. At least let me have a taste of yours.” And before Tony can react, Loki plucks his glass out of his hand, dibs a finger into it, and sucks that finger into her mouth while she sets the glass back into his hand. Tony tightens his fingers around it automatically, because his eyes are stuck on the way her lips are wrapped around her finger. 

“Hm,” she hums, pulls her finger out and licks her lips. “Very nice.”

Tony's brain is going all sorts of places it has no business going, and _he_ 's not going anywhere, not with that hard-on in his pants. He should've left earlier. He really should've left. 

Then he realizes something else. 

“Are you... wearing nail polish?” 

Loki fans out the fingers of her left hand and smiles, pleased. “Of course. I did it myself, too. Do you like it?”

She presents the hand to him. Her fingers are long and elegant, and perfectly manicured. And every nail sports green nail polish with delicate gold designs that might possibly be runes. 

Tony looks at it, then back up at Loki, who looks smug and very much pleased with herself. Over nail polish. 

The absurdity hits him all at once, and he starts laughing helplessly until he has to lean against the wall to catch his breath. 

Loki's regarding him with eyebrows arched while he gets the last of his chuckles under control. 

“You,” he points at Loki, “are ridiculous. I mean, nail polish? Seriously?” 

“It was appropriate to the occasion,” Loki says with another shrug, her arms loosely crossed under her breasts. They are really very nice breasts, and at this point in time Tony's prepared to believe “magic” as an explanation for how they don't spill out of that dress with the motion of Loki's shoulders. Why, that neckline can't be more than an inch above her nipples, and the exposed skin looks soft and creamy in the warm ballroom lights.

And then there's two of those nail-polished fingers under his chin and they gently tip his face up to meet Loki's eyes again. Loki's smirking, but her eyes are dark. 

“This form does please you,” she purrs. It's a statement, not a question. Tony pulls his head back, but Loki steps up, right into him, slides that hand to the back of his neck. Her fingers are warm, and even as a woman, with or without those heels, she's taller than him. Then she tilts her head and kisses him. 

It's warm and firm and open-mouthed. Her lips part his, and then her tongue slips into his mouth. She tastes like the Scotch he was drinking. 

Her body's moulding itself against his, firm and warm. For some reason, he'd thought Loki would be cool to the touch, but, no, not at all. He can feel body heat under the palm he instinctively settles at the small of her back. 

He's consumed with the way her tongue licks into his mouth, strokes against his own, coaxes him to kiss her back deeply. God, it's good. He's breathing deeply through his nose as their mouths feed at each other, soft and wet. It's... intoxicating. Like he's drunk.

Tony abruptly pulls back, blinks at the mostly empty glass in his hand, then looks back at Loki. He suddenly realizes he's in public, with _Loki_ wrapped around him. That's Loki's hand at the back of his neck– a hand that could crush his spine with ease, female or not, nail-polish or not. And he's doing that thing he does when he's drunk, making very questionable life-choices with his cock. 

Loki's looking at him, eyebrows arched, green eyes guileless. 

Tony frowns. “Did you put a spell on me?”

She bats her lashes at him. “Only a little one.”

“When?” Tony demands. 

Loki scratches his scalp lightly with the nails of the fingers she still has at the back of his head. 

“When I touched you. Nail-polish– such a handy thing, is it not?” God, she's _so_ smug. And Tony doesn't really know anything about magic, but he'd bet those little runes have something to do with it. 

“Fuck!” he swears. “What does it do?!” 

Loki smirks. “Oh, don't be so dramatic. It merely lowers your inhibitions slightly. No worse than that drink of yours would if it affected you.”

Tony scowls. “If it affected me, I wouldn't drink it around you.”

“Why, I believe I'm flattered,” Loki purrs, and the sound goes straight to Tony's cock. It doesn't help that she leans even more solidly into him, slides one mostly-naked thigh between his and presses upwards with intent. 

His knees go weak and arousal swamps his mind again. Loki kisses the corner of his mouth, licks his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, then uses the hand at the back of his head to pull him in, bring their mouths back together.

Tony wants to protest. He really does. He knows he should. But somehow, instead, he's kissing Loki back again, instead, he wraps his other arm over her bare shoulder, glass forgotten in his hand. Instead, he deepens the kiss even more, slides his hand lower on her back, fabric slick under his palm. 

Loki gives a pleased hum, shifts her hips to rub against him, arches her back encouragingly. And Tony drops his hand to her ass, tightens his fingers. 

Loki moans into his mouth, kisses him wet and filthy. Tony kisses back in kind, for far too long, before he pulls back for a gasp of air, growls: “Damn spell.”

Loki laughs, grins like a cat, leans in to murmur intimately into Tony's ear: “The spell broke the moment you noticed it. _This_ –” she undulates her body against his, presses her ass into his hand, rubs her front against his hard-on, presses her breasts against his chest, “–is all you, my dear mortal.” And she flicks her tongue against the lobe of his ear. Tony shivers before he can stop it, and he really needs to let go of Loki, but his hands won't quite be convinced, and he really doesn't _want_ to. What he wants to do is kiss Loki again, and push up that skirt and find out if Loki's _really_ all woman underneath it, preferably right here against the wall. God, he's hard. 

“Shit. Damn you,” he curses, and Loki laughs again, a low, smoky, wicked chuckle. 

“You did that on purpose,” Tony accuses, voice hoarse, and he's still not removed his hand from Loki's ass. “You manipulative little shit.”

“Of course,” Loki hums, and licks his ear again, sucks a kiss into the soft skin beneath it. Tony feels like he's going to catch on fire. “This is news to you?”

“Nngh,” Tony makes, then rallies his brain enough to force out: “Stop.”

“Are you sure?” Loki's breath brushes against the wet skin with the words. 

“Yes,” he says, over the screaming protest of every turned-on, horny cell in his body. 

And Loki puts her hands on his chest to put distance between them, steps back gently. “As you wish.” 

Tony misses the warmth and curves of her body immediately, but Loki just winks at him and saunters away. Tony realizes he's stared at her ass the entire way only when she vanishes between the other guests. 

He takes a deep breath, slumps against the wall, feels a little like he's just woken from the hottest sex-dream of his life and narrowly escaped the jaws of death at the same time. He downs the last of his drink, ice cubes rattling with the way his hand is shaking. He grimaces– too much ice has melted and it's watery.

***

This is all Pepper's fault, Tony decides when he's lying in bed much later and for the life of him can't get to sleep. Yep. Pepper's fault, definitely. If she didn't force him to give speeches and attend boring parties, he wouldn't have run into Loki's trap– Loki's ever so well-baited, attractive trap.

Really, what the ever-loving fuck? 

God, he can still feel the pressure of her body against his, all curves and warmth and expensive fabric under his palm. His _dick_ can still feel it, because he's half-hard and has been ever since five minutes after he climbed between his sheets– or maybe ever since Loki left him at that party. But he absolutely refuses to put his hand on his cock and jerk off to Loki. Nope. He's so not going there. 

No matter how sexy she is. 

Oh, God. It's not fair. It's really, _really_ not fair. Fine, so he can shapeshift, and he did that dragon-thing, but… how come no one ever warned Tony that Loki can shapeshift into a _woman_? One that's just as attractive as the male version, and that really is just not _fair_. 

Pepper's fault. It's totally Pepper's fault. 

Also, Loki's. Seriously, _what_ is Loki playing at? Because as flattering as it would be to believe that Tony's so hot not even a god can resist him (and, really, Tony wouldn't blame him if that _was_ the case)… Call him crazy, but he's sceptical. 

So Loki's hot, and probably has no immediate plans to kill him– but Tony's still not gonna jump into bed with him. Her. Whatever. Anyway, no jumping. Yes. Tony nods to himself. He's resolved. And he's totally not as ruled by his libido as some people would like to believe. So the next time he sees Loki, male or female, he'll be mature and professional and keep his distance and all that. 

(Yeah, he's totally doomed.)

He turns around again, flops on his other side, ignores the thoughts that whisper how much better he'd feel if he just put his hand on his dick and got off, and tries to get to sleep. 

Sleep is a long time coming.

***


	22. Chapter 22

The rest of the weekend passes quietly enough– Tony tinkers, Steve heals, Barton scares the shit out of Wilson by dropping down unannounced from some air vent or other. Tony tells Wilson that means he's now officially part of the team, welcome to the insanity, surely Cap won't mind if he grabs himself one of the rooms on Cap's floor, and ignores the resulting spluttering. They have a movie night Sunday evening, and Darcy pouts at the general lack of Loki. (“What?” she says. “I like him.”) Tony ignores that, too. 

Monday brings with it a bank robbery, and really, who does that anymore in New York with all the superheroes around? I mean, unless you're a supervillain, but these guys are just your run-of-the-mill human criminals, with the genius idea to rob the bank where Jane happens to be running an errand before heading out on her breakfast date with Thor. Tony's kind of glad Thor wasn't actually _in_ the bank, because Thor and potential hostage situations in enclosed quarters just aren't a good mix, and bullets have this nasty habit of ricocheting. Anyway, Nat and Clint do a sneaky infiltration and take all the robbers down before they've even realized something's wrong, and the whole thing is over in less than five minutes with the bad guys zippy-tied and all the civilians safe (no property damage, even!) and a nice photo op for the Avengers. 

So Tony's in a pretty good mood– until Nat ghosts up to him later in the afternoon when he's in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and one of the donuts Thor brought back from his date, and slides a tablet at him. On the screen are pictures of the two mutant kids. 

“Pietro and Wanda Maximoff,” Nat informs him as he flicks through the data– it's their Hydra files. “Brother and sister– twins.”

“They used the Sceptre to activate their powers,” Tony says flatly. The files aren't complete, but there's enough to make out the gist of it– to make out that once upon a time these records were meticulous and analytical and soulless. “They experimented on them.” Christ, they're _kids_. 

“Yeah,” Nat agrees, voice emotionless in a way that Tony's learned means she's feeling exactly the opposite. “They volunteered.”

“They…?” Tony turns his eyes from the cold numbers of dates and times to stare at her. “Why would they do that?”

Nat shrugs. “Propaganda. Sokovia's gotten caught in a lot of the conflicts in the region over the last several decades. Whole country's pretty much devastated. Hydra came in and promised they'd fix everything, gave them someone to blame.” 

She leans over to flip through a few documents with a slender fingertip, until Tony's looking at a picture of a newspaper article. It's at least ten years old, the grainy black-and-white picture showing a partially collapsed building. There's more rubble around the edges, on the street. 

“Says here they pulled two kids out of the building after it got hit by a missile that didn't go off– took them two days to get to them without setting it off. Parents got killed in a first strike that did detonate.” Nat's face is neutral, but there's compassion lurking in her eyes as she meets Tony's eyes. “I checked with JARVIS– the missiles were Stark Industries.”

“Fuck,” Tony swears, rubs a hand over his face. “Stane?”

But Nat shakes her head. “No, official.” She shrugs. “Some local rebel factions held sympathies for known terrorist outfits. Or so intel said.”

“Fuck,” Tony says again. What must it have been like for those kids, staring at his name on a ticking bomb for two days, trapped? He'd only done it for a moment, there in the desert. “Guess now we know why they don't like me.”

Nat makes a non-committal noise, and he's grateful that she doesn't try to tell him it wasn't his fault. 

Because it is. It is his fault. Yeah, people try to tell him it's not like he fired the weapons, that if he didn't (doesn't) build them, someone else will– but that's no fucking excuse. He's run in those circles long enough, he's been fed that rhetoric for as long as he can remember– weapons to protect people, weapons to protect his country, and it's nothing to do with him what happens with them after he's sold them for a shit-ton of money, it's okay to live large on blood money. 

It's all bullshit. Weapons kill. It's what they do. Sure they kill 'enemy combatants' and whatever euphemism you wanna throw on it to make it sound like anything but what it is– people. And, yeah, maybe some of those people are dangerous. Maybe some of those people deserve to die, maybe the world's better off without them. But maybe they're also just people defending _their_ country, _their_ people, the things _they_ believe in. And maybe they didn't ever choose to be in a war. Bullets and bombs don't care who they kill. Soldiers, civilians, children, apartment buildings and hospitals– it's all the same to them. 

And if he builds them, yeah, he's responsible. He fucking _is_. Sure, if he doesn't do it, someone else will– maybe. That's on that someone else. It's no excuse for _him_ to do it. 

He stares at the picture of the newspaper, takes the reminder of why he does what he does: At least this way, _he_ makes the decisions. At least this way, if he kills someone it's on him, just on him. 

“We're still looking for them,” Nat informs him softly. “JARVIS is keeping an eye out, and, now that we have names, he's looking for more intel on them. Meanwhile, we might be able to get locations for a few more Hydra bases from the data, but it's taking a while to reconstruct what we can of the files.”

Tony nods his understanding, and Nat promises to keep him in the loop before she goes back to whatever she and JARVIS and presumably Clint are doing to piece that data back together. He gets himself an update on Steve –improving, slowly but steadily though still unconscious– and then heads back to the workshop to distract himself from the thoughts of bombs and children. The invisible suit project isn't coming along very well at all, but he's not ready to give up yet.

***

Of course, Loki _would_ choose that evening to reappear again, unannounced and in the middle of the living room. Tony's ended up eating dinner with Bruce and Nat, but they've barely spoken half a dozen words over the course of it, and Tony's just fine with that. He's still disgruntled over the afternoon's conversation and the fact that he isn't any closer to an invisible suit even hours of dedicated genius later.

So having Loki pop in in all his armoured, leather-clad and male glory after the stunt he pulled a few days ago isn't precisely his favourite thing to happen.

Then Loki promptly pulls a face, claps his hands over his ears, and grimaces. “What is that infernal noise?!” he demands, turns to glare accusingly at Tony. 

Tony blinks. “You can hear that?”

“Yes,” Loki hisses, and Tony feels the beginnings of a smirk curl his lips. 

“What are you, a dog?” he asks rhetorically, ignores the continued glare, and waves a hologram into existence over his plate. “JARVIS, raise frequency.” 

He watches in fascination as the sound waves on his screen spike while Loki winces and says “Gah!” in protest, until they finally exceed his audible range. 

Loki takes his hands down slowly, shakes his head a little like he needs to clear the ringing from his ears, gives Tony puzzled eyebrows. “What, pray tell, is the purpose of this new development?”

Tony grins. “Just a little something I'm playing with.”

And, oh god, now Loki gives him _suggestive_ eyebrows, to go with that tiny, devious curl of a smirk at the corner of his mouth (Tony's kissed that), that says he's thinking up naughty retorts and he knows Tony knows it and he knows Tony knows he knows it and there's entirely too much _knowing_ going around. 

Thankfully, Bruce chooses that moment to ask: “Tony? What's he talking about?” and Tony can turn to him and wave him off and not look at Loki anymore with all the knowing. 

“Nevermind,” he tells Bruce, adds “Tell you later,” when Bruce opens his mouth again. 

Bruce looks at him sceptically, and so does Nat, but instead of pushing it, he turns to Loki instead. “Something we can help you with?”

“Actually,” Loki says and strides up to the table, “it's rather more about what _I_ can help _you_ with.” He twists his hand, grabs something out of thin air, sets it on the table– it's a kind of yellow crystal and metal contraption, about the size to fit comfortably into your palm. Tony leans forward, eyes it suspiciously, then directs the suspicion at Loki. 

“Okay, I give up, what is it? And where did it come from? And don't say 'magic'!” Loki's smirk says that's exactly what he was going to say. “You're just doing that to piss me off, aren't you? Show off!” Tony accuses. 

“If I were showing off, Stark,” Loki advises him scathingly, “I'd be doing it with something more impressive than pulling baubles out of pocket dimensions. _Thor_ can manage as much. As to what it is– it's a data storage device, of a format widely in use amongst more advanced civilisations.”

Tony stares at the little crystal thing with renewed interest, feels his fingers itch. “It's an inter-galactic USB key?”

“Yes,” Loki agrees dryly, and when Tony looks back up at him, he seems amused– a little mockingly so, but not quite as derisive as usual. 

“'Kay, gotcha,” Tony says. “What're we supposed to do with it?”

Loki hitches a hip up onto the table, which is altogether unfairly sexy, and pushes the thing closer towards Tony. “I want you to figure out how to interface your systems with this, extract the data from it.”

Yeah, Tony wants that too. In fact, he can hardly wait to get started. Still… “Uh… why?”

Loki folds his hands in his lap. “You need transportation for this venture of ours– interstellar transportation. I've checked Midgard's advances in this area, and they're insufficient for our needs. So. I'll procure the necessary information elsewhere to allow you to build something adequate.”

Tony stares at him a little. “A spaceship,” he states, floored. “You're saying there's alien spaceship blueprints on there?!” He points at the innocuous little device on the table by Loki's hip. 

“No,” Loki replies dryly. “This is just for you to experiment on. Once you've figured out how to access the data on it and make it readable to your systems, I'll get you the plans.”

“So what's on it?” Tony wants to know, reaches out to pick up the little thing, turns it in his fingers. It's lighter than it looks, and he thinks he can make out something that could be an access port. 

“Find out,” Loki tells him with a smirk that only widens when Tony narrows his eyes. 

“Oh, I will,” Tony promises, because… no, he can't resist a challenge, and yes, he's aware that Loki's aware. “But why not just get us an actual spaceship? Sounds easier than me figuring out how to interface with an alien system, decode alien programming, translate alien languages since I doubt the rest of the galaxy labels their blueprints in English, and then build the whole thing from scratch. Not that I mind building a spaceship from scratch, I mean, commercial space-flight, can you say under-explored market?, but, y'know...” He waves a vague hand, trails off. 

“Because I'm not an engineer,” Loki retorts. “Neither am I a pilot. Oh, I can fly most craft if I have to, but if we're venturing into hostile situations, I'd rather be able to concentrate on my actual areas of expertise. If you build the thing, you'll know how it works and you'll be able to repair it. You'll be familiar with the systems and their configuration and such, and can set it up to your liking.”

“Good point.” Tony nods decisively. “Let's build us a spaceship!”

Loki gives him a tolerantly exasperated look. “Let's see you decode that data first, shall we?” He tips his head at the alien USB key Tony's cradling in his hands still. 

Tony gives him his best, most arrogant smirk. “Oh, Maleficient, I will.”

Loki gives him a derisive snort in return and… vanishes. 

There's a moment of silence as they all blink at the spot of empty air at the end of the table, then Bruce says: “Uh, okay then. Tony...”

But Tony waves him off, sets the alien USB key down and pulls out his phone. 

“Tony,” Nat says, with an edge. “What was that all about, when he showed up? What sound?” 

Tony holds up a hand, tells her “Just a sec,” distractedly, keeps his eyes on his phone screen. 

In shimmering shades of blue, there's a rough outline of the floor plan on it, and there, moving towards the bar at a leisurely pace, is a vague, fuzzy dot. Tony swipes the screen over to infra-red, and, yeah, there's a matching heat signature. He swipes back, keys in a few commands to JARVIS. And when that fuzzy dot stops at the bar, JARVIS pops out a discrete mini-repulsor from the corner of the ceiling, takes aim by correlating his infra-red and sonar data, and shoots. 

The shot hits _something_ , and there's a flurry of green and black as Loki's thrown sideways and his invisibility spell breaks. He catches himself against the bar top, swipes long hair out of his face, and frowns over at the table. 

“Hands off the Scotch,” Tony tells him mildly, and with his biggest shit-eating grin on his face. Nat and Bruce look nicely surprised, too. 

Loki straightens, spreads his hands, raises his eyebrows. “How did you know?”

Tony snorts. “Yeah, like I'm just gonna _tell_ you.”

That gets him a smirk, a wry one. “Fair enough,” Loki concedes. “I suppose I shall have to investigate for myself.”

Tony's under no illusion that it's going to take him long to figure out the sonar, not when he knows it's got to do with sound– damn him and his ridiculous hearing, anyway. Thor's not complained about any unusual noise, so it's got to be something to do with this whole adoption debacle– and Tony's not gonna touch _that_ topic with a ten foot pole, no thanks. 

But still. It works! Maybe Loki's going to work out a way around it, but for the moment, it works, and not every invisible would-be intruder's going to be that prepared. 

Nat and Bruce give him looks that are kind of impressed, and Bruce's probably figured it out already. 

“I guess you shall,” Tony agrees. Loki rolls his eyes and… vanishes again. 

“Is he actually gone this time?” Nat asks, tone wry, as he checks his phone. 

He nods. “Yeah, he's gone.”

“Not bad,” Bruce observes mildly as he takes a sip from his mug of tea. “Sonar? What gave you the idea?”

Tony shrugs, since he doesn't see any reason to own up to that little throw-down with Loki the other week. “Well, if you can't see him with your eyes, I figured, how is he doing that? It might not make any sense that he's _able_ to do that, but it's gotta have something to do with light. Like, he's playing retroflective panel with his brain, bending the photons around him, reflecting his background, _something_. So, well, I started thinking about other ways to find things that don't rely on the visible light spectrum.” Oooh, pressure plates in the floor. He should totally install that next. He shoots JARVIS a quick memo to remind him on his phone. 

They talk building security for a little longer, take their dishes to the kitchen, and then Nat and Bruce head off to their own devices. Tony walks over to stand by the windows, looks out over the city for a few moments– canyons of light between the skyscrapers, gleaming domes and glowing rectangles climbing their heights in chaotic patterns, the orange-washed darkness of the night sky above. It's a familiar sight. It's good to be home. 

He turns towards the bar, but he hasn't taken more than a few steps when JARVIS gives a warning ping, clears his throat. 

“Sir...”

Tony's already turning, caught a waver of a moving reflection in the windows out of the corner of his eyes, and there's Loki, again. 

He's not far from where Tony just stood, and by the way his eyes are leisurely dragging up Tony's body, he was staring at his ass. 

He's smirking. It's very predatory, and Tony's jeans are getting tighter. 

He swallows.

***


	23. Chapter 23

“Stark.”

Loki prowls towards him, eyes heated, and Tony backs up, but hits the edge of the table. 

“Nu-uh!” he says, points a finger at Loki. “Stay! Down, boy!”

“Aw.” Loki does that pout of his, plump lower lip and scrunched-up eyebrows, and doesn't stop at all until he's right in Tony's space, rests the tips of his fingers on the table to either side of Tony. “You don't mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” Tony shoots back, leans away as far as he can. “Don't tell me what I mean and what I don't!”

“Come now,” and the purr is even worse when he's male, a low rumble. He tilts his head and kisses the corner of Tony's mouth, flicks his tongue against Tony's bottom lip just like he did when he was female, only on the other side. “You want me.”

“Well, I can't always get what I want.” Tony wishes his voice were a little less rushed, his breathing a little more steady, his heart not quite beating that fast. 

Loki's eyes laugh at him as he smirks. “Really? That is not at all what I hear.”

“You're a bad idea,” Tony grinds out. 

“Hmm,” Loki hums, and doesn't deny it. “But so much _fun_.” He runs the tip of his nose over Tony's cheek, kisses the corner of his mouth again. He's standing so close, bracketing Tony in. 

And he leans in to kiss Tony. Tony sees it coming, knows it's coming. Loki's mouth covers his, his tongue pushes between Tony's lips, and Tony's letting him, Tony's kissing him back. He shouldn't, he knows he shouldn't, but he's doing it anyway. It's astoundingly familiar, and so good, Tony doesn't have the words, his head is rapidly emptying of any rational thought in direct proportion to how his cock is hardening.   
It's only when Loki pulls back that Tony realizes he's had his eyes closed, his fingers clenched tightly around the edge of the table. Loki steps away, holds out one pale hand. 

“Come,” he says, and manages to layer a world of filthy promises into the word. 

Tony stares at that hand. 

“I swear I will not harm you,” Loki adds when he doesn't move. Tony darts a look up at him to find his eyes serious for once. Only for a moment, though. Then he smirks again. “Unless you ask me to, of course.”

And that's... really not fair, because the thought of getting kinky with Loki short-circuits pretty much any remaining brain power Tony has. 

He blames that for the fact that he finally pushes away from the table and steps up to Loki, and takes that hand. 

Loki smiles, wide and sharp and satisfied, and pulls Tony into his body, wraps an arm around him.

***

The world goes away for a second in a kind of colourful swoop, and when it comes back, they're standing in Tony's bedroom.

Loki doesn't give him time to do more than blink, certainly not to contemplate the fact that he just got _teleported_ to his _bedroom_. No, Loki's on him in a moment, kisses him again, deep and hungry now. Tony's hands are resting on the green lining of his leather coat (is it a coat if it doesn't have sleeves?), the gold brackets along the edge digging into his palm. 

Loki turns them without breaking the kiss, backs them up until the backs of Tony's legs hit the edge of the bed. He does break the kiss then, but he doesn't let go of Tony, guides him down on the bed with the arm around his waist, crawls onto it after him. 

His eyes are eating Tony up, and he's gorgeous, tall and pretty and long-limbed, black hair falling around his collar in a mess of curls, a few strands escaping to fall around his face, to soften the sharp angles of cheekbones and nose and jaw. 

“This is so the stupidest thing I've ever done,” Tony rasps. 

Loki smirks, leans down to run the tip of his tongue along the side of Tony's beard, then his cheek. “But I promise you'll enjoy it very much,” he whispers hoarsely into Tony's ear.

Then he's kissing Tony again, settling over him– there's leather against the denim over his thigh, weight against his groin, an elbow dipping the mattress beside his head. And Loki's lips, softer and smoother than Tony's, and his warm, wet tongue getting very familiar with Tony's. Tony groans into the kiss, arches up into him, groans again when Loki pulls away from his mouth to kiss his jaw, his throat. He raises his hands to Loki's sides, encounters fabric, then leather and metal under the fabric. He explores with his fingers, up along Loki's ribs and over his back, and, Christ, how many layers is the man wearing? It's all a big tangle of _things_ , unfamiliar ones, and he can't do this blind. 

He shoves against Loki's shoulder, none too gently, narrows his eyes when Loki pushes up on his elbow enough to look at him. (It shifts his weight further onto their groins, and, oh, focus, Tony.) Loki's eyes are dark, pupils large with arousal, a touch of a flush to his cheeks, lips reddened, and whatever else his agenda, you can't fake pupil reflex, right? So the lust is real, at least. 

“You,” Tony declares to Loki's questioning look, “are wearing far too many clothes.” Loki smirks, of course he does, and Tony mirrors it, gives him his own suggestive eyebrows. “Lemme help you out with that.”

“I could just spell them away,” Loki offers. 

Tony considers for a moment, he is pretty turned on and there's something to be said for getting down to business quick and dirty, but on the other hand… “No, let me.”

Loki's eyebrows arch in amusement, but he rolls off of Tony and sits up on the edge of the bed, braces his hands behind him. “Please,” he concedes, all haughty purr, “go ahead.”

Tony climbs to his feet, considers the tableau before him for a moment: Loki, all long lines and gorgeousness and power, for him to unwrap. 

He feels like a kid on Christmas day. 

Now, where to start…? His eyes fall to Loki's boots, and Loki's regarding him with a mocking glint in his eyes, waiting– yeah, no, Tony's not gonna kneel, not today. “Well, you can get rid of the boots,” he concedes instead, kicks off his own trainers and socks. 

Loki's smirking again, but hauls one leg over the other knee, unfastens something between folds of leather, and slides the boot off easily, then repeats the same with the other one. Apparently, Asgardians don't do socks, and his bare feet are pale against Tony's carpet. And, good lord, but even his feet are pretty. 

Tony steps closer, and Loki spreads his knees so Tony can step between his legs, looks up at him all dark and inviting. Tony meets that look, sets his hands on Loki's shoulders, runs them down over the lapels of the coat, then follows the strap running diagonally down over Loki's chest with his right hand. If he wants to get Loki out of his clothes, that'll have to be the first thing to go. By the time his hand is questing under the coat at Loki's hip to see where the damn thing goes, he's straddling Loki's thigh– it's that or revisit the keeling scenario, and Tony prefers to park his ass on Loki's knee instead. Loki doesn't look like he minds at all, not even when Tony fists his left into the coat over Loki's chest for balance. There's only a few inches between their faces while they hold each others gaze. 

His fingers meet metal, and he pulls, to find that the strap runs through a square sort of buckle, the sides of which attach to another two leather straps that wrap around Loki's waist like a loose, off-centre belt. There's studs to the sides, one for each belt, and he pushes them through the soft leather. That leaves the chest strap hanging free off of Loki's right shoulder, but when he gives the two belts an experimental tug, there's still resistance. So he goes exploring with his fingers under the coat by Loki's left hip, which means he's got to lean forward a bit. He's very aware of the way his balls and half-hard cock are shifting against Loki's thigh, the way Loki's breath brushes his face, the way his eyes dip every now and then to Tony's mouth before he pulls them up again to meet Tony's, full of mischief and dark promise. 

It's heady. It's really heady. Tony _could_ bridge that last inch and kiss him, but he's enjoying the tension, and apparently so is Loki, because he's not making a move to do it, either, though he's clearly thinking about it– or thinking about all the other places he'd like to have Tony's mouth on his person. 

God. 

Tony finds the place where the double belt runs through a loop of leather– the backside of the chest strap, running into the coat through a slit an inch further up. He hooks his fingers into the loop, grabs the belts with his other hand, so now he kind of has his arms around Loki, and pulls. He sits back with the belts in his left hand, grins triumphantly, pushes back to his feet– with a tiny, teasing little grind of his crotch against Loki's knee. When he sets the belts aside on the bed and grabs the shoulder piece, it comes away without a problem, leather strap and all. Before he's getting Loki out of that coat, though, there's still the vambraces armouring him wrist to elbow. Loki lets him turn his left arm obligingly as he studies the broad metal band holding them on, running diagonally across the inside of Loki's arm. Tony rubs a thumb over the delicate engravings– they're actually really rather pretty. Still. If he's getting Loki naked, they need to go. He pulls experimentally on the metal, but he can't figure out how to open it. Loki chuckles after Tony fumbles unsuccessfully for a moment, slides his own hand over Tony's, guides his fingers to a small catch at the side of the metal band. His skin is warm and soft against Tony's, and the band slides open with a quiet click. Tony pulls off the vambrace, looks at it curiously– there's a small flange that fits into a corresponding indentation on the main piece, but it's smooth and too narrow for much traction. 

“Magnetic,” Loki informs him when Tony gives him a puzzled look. 

“Huh,” Tony says, because that's rather clever, then sets it down on the tangle of leather on the side of the bed. He makes short work of the other one, and then grabs the lapels of Loki's coat and hauls it off his shoulders with a smirk. Loki chuckles, a sound that's unfairly warm and deep and _sexy_ , seriously, Tony could probably get hard just from that sound, and pushes to his feet to let the cloth and leather slither down his frame. It means he's standing so close Tony's nose is basically in the hollow of his throat (he's really unfairly tall, the bastard, too), and Tony takes half a step back to eye the rest of his project. 

There's the leather chest plate with that broad gold inlay, and softer leather, textured like criss-crossing straps, around his middle. There's leather worked along his sleeves, up over his elbows, and there's still little bits of armour at his wrists– Tony doesn't know what they're called, but they seem to be fixed with strips of green cloth. Loki's leather pants are also armoured along the outside, broad stripes of square metal pieces running down to his knees, to where his boots would start. There's a similar patch of metal studs along the sides of Loki's top, above his hips. That's probably more decorative than functional, although… it does cover some pretty vulnerable sections. 

From what Tony can tell, the chest plate, the leather around Loki's middle and the sleeves are all part of one garment– there's seams and folds and diagonal lines everywhere, but it's kind of like an armoured shirt, with an asymmetrical hem that runs a diagonal to the middle of Loki's left thigh. 

Loki lets him look his fill, his expression amused more than anything, and obligingly raises his arms when Tony paces to the side to have a look and find out how to get him out of this thing. 

Turns out, there's a series of straps and studs like on the buckle along the side, under Loki's arm. The back is similar to the front, smooth hardened leather on top and softer leather around the waist. Tony makes short work of the fastenings on that side, the studs sliding easily through the elastic material. That done, he unfastens the things from Loki's wrists– they're basically cloth and leather wrist bands with a metal inlay at the front, and with those gone, Loki pulls the whole thing over his head like a sweater– a very elaborate, armoured sweater from a fantasy convention, but still. 

Loki drops it by the side of the bed, and now he's in nothing but a soft, green shirt that was previously invisible under the whole get-up, and those leather pants. 

Tony looks him up and down, feels his eyebrows rise, bites back a snicker. 

“What?” Loki asks, and Tony drags his eyes up from his crotch to his face, but gestures towards the definite bulge at the front of Loki's pants, then towards the pile on the floor. 

“Nothing. Just… Modesty flap, much?” He smirks. 

Loki blinks, surprised, then laughs. “Not intentionally,” he answers, teeth bright in a grin. He sits back down on the bed, scoots backwards until he's in the middle of it, holds out a hand in invitation. 

Tony takes it and climbs on after him. Loki's other hand curves around the back of his hip, and he pulls him in until Tony settles on his lap.

“May I...?” Loki gestures at himself, at the rest of his clothes, and Tony frowns. 

“No. I wanna do it.”

Loki rolls his eyes a little, sighs. “You are a stubborn man, Stark.”

Tony huffs, finds himself smirking. “Yeah, you don't say.”

And at that Loki laughs, that lovely, throaty chuckle, and cups a hand around the back of Tony's head, leans forward to kiss him. It's open-mouthed and wet and thorough. It's also... Tony's not quite sure. It's firm, yes, a little demanding, but... not aggressive. There's no teeth, no push that Loki doesn't invite him to reciprocate. It's, in a way, strangely companionable. It's not a battle, it's a mutual, enjoyable exploration. 

His lips are wet and tingling when Loki pulls back a little, gives him a heated look and a small smirk. His hands settle at Tony's waist, fingers inching under his t-shirt. 

“Then at least let me relieve you of this.” He starts to slide the hem up along Tony's sides. 

Tony nods, short of breath, and raises his arms so Loki can pull the fabric over his head. 

Loki's eyes are on him, appreciative, he sees when his head pops out of the t-shirt again, and he pulls his arms out and throws it to the side.

Loki raises a hand, rests the tips of his fingers just under Tony's collarbones, then draws them down his chest in a slow, exploratory caress. He brushes over the arc reactor curiously for a moment, but soon moves on, down over Tony's stomach, then slides his hand to the side, cups both of them around Tony's waist as he leans in for another kiss. He lingers on Tony's mouth only for a moment, then presses his lips to the side of Tony's chin, mouths along his jaw, and Tony finds his eyes fluttering shut, his head tilting, up and sideways, to make room as Loki trails lips and tongue down the side of his neck. 

Shit, what does he think he's doing? 

This is _Loki_. Loki of Asgard, super-strong sorcerer who, just two years ago, invaded and attacked the planet with an alien army, got people killed left, right and centre, almost choked him to death and threw him out a window– and here he is, straddling the man's lap, Loki's hands sliding up Tony's naked back, his mouth at Tony's neck. 

His hands are warm and firm as they run up over Tony's ribs, his lips soft, the tip of his tongue a wet tease as it runs along the juncture of Tony's neck and shoulder. Tony's hot and hard and quickly getting harder. 

Loki drops a little kiss to the top of his shoulder, then lifts his head again. His pupils are huge, almost drowning out the bright iris. He runs his hands from Tony's back onto his shoulders, then down his arms, loops his fingers lightly around Tony's wrists and pulls Tony's hands to the hem of his shirt. 

“Go on, then,” he says, low and hoarse. 

So Tony does. He runs his palms up warm skin, soft fabric covering the back of his hands– not as soft as Loki's skin, though. It's absolutely _lovely_ , silky-smooth and perfect. Tony kind of wants to look at what he's uncovering, but instead he's holding Loki's eyes, Loki's dark, lust-blown eyes, tension sparking between them so intense Tony feels almost dizzy with it– or maybe that's all the blood that's vacated his head in favour of his cock. 

It lasts until he's got the shirt rucked up under Loki's arms, and Loki takes over, grabs the hem and pulls it over his head, throws it away, swipes a hand through his hair to push it back out of his face– and that explains the hairstyle, it's not the super-villain fashion choice of the year, designed to intimidate, it's just really what he _does_. 

And he's naked down to the waist, and, oh _hell_ – Tony runs his eyes over miles and miles of pale skin, swallows, his mouth dry. He'd thought, somehow, that without his armour, Loki'd look leaner, skinnier, that all that leather and shoulder armour and what not was bulking him up– but the opposite is true. Naked Loki looks a lot more solid than regular Loki, the breadth of his shoulders undisguised, the flex of muscle obvious over his chest, along his arms. He doesn't have Thor's sheer bulk, no, but there's nothing fragile or skinny about him.

Loki lets him look for a moment, then raises his hands and cups them around Tony's head, pulls him into another kiss. Once he has his lips on Tony's and his tongue in his mouth, he moves his hand to the back of his head instead, then wraps his arm around Tony's shoulders, palm and fingers on his shoulder blade, skin on naked skin, cradling, pulling Tony in. His other hand drops to Tony's waist, strokes to the middle of his back, urging at Tony as he pushes up onto his knees until they're chest to naked chest, stomach to stomach. Tony reciprocates, buries his fingers in that black mane just because he can, clutches at Loki's back possessively, feels the scrape of his calluses against the soft silk of Loki's skin. And he's still more or less straddling Loki's thighs, leather and metal pressing against the inside of his legs through his jeans, his balance mostly up to Loki's hold on him– yeah, Tony's not topping this one, and maybe he should mind, but with the way Loki's kissing him, all greed and barely-bridled passion? He really doesn't give a shit. 

He cares even less when Loki moans into his mouth, his breath growing no less harsh than Tony's. The kiss is moving from eager to downright obscene– their mouths meeting, parting, meeting again at a slightly different angle, lips feeding against each other, rubbing wetly just to feel it, long strokes of tongue– Tony gives as good as he gets, and oh hell, yes, it's hot and messy and pure decadence and he's totally on board with that, so very on board. They're both panting, making half-swallowed noises that're frankly pornographic, and Tony's not sure when the last time was that he was this turned on. 

Loki tips them over so Tony ends up with almost two-hundred pounds of half-naked Asgardian on top of him, between his legs, and, yeah, he's not topping, but he has no complaints. He's not gonna be outdone that easily, either, though, so he reaches for Loki's pants and slides a hand in with a grin. Loki makes a guttural noise of pleasure and drops his forehead to Tony's shoulder for a moment when Tony's fingers close around hot, bare flesh– no underwear. Tony runs experimental fingers along Loki's cock, and finds nothing unexpected. Loki's got nothing to complain about in the size department, and he's definitely interested in the proceedings– very interested. 

“What?” Loki asks, eyebrows scrunched quizzically in the middle of his forehead. 

“Well, you're an alien,” Tony points out. “Just making sure there's no compatibility issues. Or weird surprises.”

“Like what?”

Tony shrugs a little. “I dunno. There could be… teeth or something.” 

Loki snorts a laugh, and, okay, maybe Tony's watched too much Japanese porn anime in college, but you never know. 

“Don't worry,” Loki says, presses a short kiss to the corner of Tony's mouth, “as far as I'm aware, we're perfectly compatible for these purposes.”

“As far as you're aware?” Tony asks, and Loki shrugs a little, raises his eyebrows. 

“Well, it's been a fair few centuries since I last took a mortal to bed, but I doubt you've changed significantly in that regard.”

“Wait, you've slept with humans before?”

“Of course,” Loki tells him. “You know I've been to this realm before.” He dibs down and nips at Tony's jaw playfully. “You know I am a god to your people. They have always been happy to worship me in all sorts of ways.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Tony retorts dryly, gives him another suggestive stroke that has Loki's eyelids flutter gratifyingly. Then he moves his hands to the waistband of Loki's pants and hauls them down as far as he can reach. The leather is thinner and stretchier than he'd have expected, and there's some ties along the top that he really can't be bothered undoing when this'll do just fine, especially at this angle. And then he gets in a good grope of Loki's ass. It's a fabulous ass to grope, smooth and firm, fits into his hands perfectly. 

Loki arches above him, a cat-like, undulating wave of a stretch, drags his tongue lewdly across Tony's chin and cheek, leaving dampness on his skin and beard, and sits up on his haunches, makes short work of those ties, pulls the pants down his thighs and off. Tony pushes up on his elbows to watch, because hell _yeah_. 

And, alright, Loki's looks pretty fantastic naked. Long, strong limbs, broad shoulders, a gentle ripple of abs, and, yes, he's hung. He doesn't have a lot of body hair, so all that pale skin just _gleams_ in the gentle yellow light of Tony's bedroom. He looks absolutely edible. 

Loki plants his knees next to Tony's thighs, sets his hands to either side of the bulge at the front of his jeans, and smirks. 

“My turn,” he purrs, and moves his fingers in to undo Tony's flies with a wicked, teasing bit of brushing and pressure. Tony groans, arches up to let Loki drag the fabric off of him– which Loki does, jeans and boxers in one go, which is just as well 'cause he can do without Loki commenting on the little 'A's and red-blue-white shields on his underwear. 

Loki puts his hands back on his hips, thumbs rubbing distractedly into the hollow next to the bone, and eyes him up and down leisurely. Tony meets his eyes boldly, stretches a little– yeah, he's hot and he knows it, and he's never been accused of an excess of modesty. By the satisfied curl of his lips, Loki agrees. Then he leans forward, moves himself back on top of Tony, elbows and hands in the bedding next to Tony's sides, mouth skating across his skin, kisses pressed into the soft curve of his waist, lips fitting over the bump of a rib, a curious lick along scar tissue fading around the arc reactor, his nose in the hollow under Tony's clavicle, until they're face to face again, and Loki looks at him a moment– Tony's not sure what to make of his expression. There's consideration there, a bit of a question, a bit of a tease and a dark intensity hovering behind it all. Then Loki closes the inch between their mouths and kisses him again with a sound that's half moan and half sigh. He tastes of Tony's skin and sweat, and it's greedy lips and urgent tongue, feeding on Tony's mouth as Loki settles his weight over him– naked skin to naked skin, naked _cock_ to naked cock as Loki fits himself over Tony with an arch of his back, between his legs, elbows planted into the bed next to Tony's head. 

Tony slings a leg around Loki's in turn, feels the curve of his ass against the inside of his thigh, digs his fingers into the muscle at the small of Loki's back. Loki moans, rubs against him without breaking the kiss, and Tony answers the moan, arches into it, because, yes, more pressure, more heat against his throbbing cock, yes. Loki's lips leave his so he can lick the side of Tony's beard, against the growth of the hair, breath puffing against Tony's cheek. 

Tony runs his hands over all the skin he can reach, kneads Loki's ass and strokes along his sides, over his flexing back and shoulders, around to his chest – Loki's heavy, and so warm, and there's no armour, there's no clothes, there's nothing but gorgeous naked man and he _can touch_ , and he wants it, he wants all of it. The grind of their hips together is getting sweaty and damp while Tony licks at Loki's chin, nips along his jaw, and Loki's drawing wet lips along his cheek in turn, nuzzles into his neck, under his ear, mouths at Tony's throat, shifts his weight so he has one hand free to run over Tony's shoulder, to thumb his nipple (Tony tightens the leg hooked over Loki's hip in response), strokes along Tony's side and his waist and his hip, grabs a hold of Tony's leg and gives a definite thrust against Tony's groin that has Tony catch his breath. His index finger curls intimately into the crease between Tony's thigh and ass as he pulls them even tighter together with kisses pressed against Tony's shoulder. Then he uses that hold to pull Tony with him as he slides to the side, and, while Tony's still trying to figure out where this is going, Loki rolls him onto his front, moves over him and puts his mouth to the base of Tony's neck, kisses hungry down between his shoulder blades, and then his hands are on Tony's back, moving over his skin in long greedy strokes. 

For a moment, Tony considers protesting, but Loki's hands are running down his sides warm and strong, half a caress and half a massage, and his lips and tongue are working down his spine wet and hungry, so instead he moans and kind of arches into it. 

So Loki's going a little dominant on him here- it's not exactly unexpected. And maybe he'd feel the need to do something about it if Loki weren't making him feel so… appreciated. With every flex of fingers against Tony's skin, every hot, panting breath, every lick and every nip, Loki's not shy about showing that he's enjoying himself, and, yeah, Tony can get behind that– being hot enough that he needs to do nothing but be there to get Loki going. 

With Loki's mouth at the small of his back and a hand spread wide over the back of his ribs, it's not exactly a surprise when Loki puts his other hand on Tony's ass, fingers curling between his cheeks. 

“You've done this before, yes?” Loki asks, voice rough and the air of the words puffing cool against the wet, tingling skin of Tony's back. 

Tony drags his head up to look over his shoulder. “You kidding? 'Course I have. Genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, y'know, I take all parts of that very seriously–” He breaks off on a moan and concedes defeat, drops his face back into the covers when Loki presses the first finger in with a smirk Tony just catches out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, _god_ , that's good,” because it is, “god, fuck… wait.” He lifts his head again, finds the smirk still in place and raised eyebrows directed at him too, and Loki doesn't wait either, moves in and out slow but with purpose. “Lube, why do you have…? Where…? _Don't say_ …!”

“Magic,” Loki purrs smugly, and curls his finger in a deep, wicked way that makes Tony's spine feel like it's melting. 

He moans, drops his forehead to the bed yet again as he arches and pushes back into Loki's hand– Loki's definitely slick hand. 

“Magic lube's just _wrong_ ,” he points out between heavy breaths, heaves himself up onto elbows and knees nevertheless to facilitate better leverage in his arching. 

Loki shifts forwards, finger still in Tony's ass but his other arm braced next to Tony's, chest so close to Tony's back he can feel the body heat radiating off of him, drops his mouth next to Tony's ear. 

“Stark. Shut up, spread your legs, and let me get you ready for my cock.” He pushes in a second finger to emphasize the point. 

“Asshole,” Tony retorts, and does as he's told. 

Loki drops a kiss against the juncture between his neck and shoulder as a reward, not that the way he's scissoring his fingers isn't already good enough by itself. 

“Condom, though,” Tony finds enough brain power to say even as he rocks back into that stretch and pressure. “Night stand. Not gonna catch your alien STDs.” 

Now that he's there, Loki doesn't seem to have any desire to abandon Tony's neck- he's trailing open lips and the tip of his tongue along Tony's skin in an oddly gentle counterpoint to the way he's working Tony open. 

“I assure you, I'm in perfect health,” Loki tells him, licks at the lobe of his ear. “And nothing you might carry should pose a danger to me.”

“Still,” Tony insists. “Tests. First. Allergies. What _ever_! Just do it, fuck!” He shivers, because that push reached his prostate, or near enough, and how is Loki still this coherent, anyway, it's not fair!

“As you wish,” Loki concedes, drops a kiss to Tony's shoulder, and gives him another finger. Then Tony's actually too busy panting and moaning to talk. 

He's a pile of shivering nerve endings by the time Loki moves off to dig through the night stand for the condom, sweat sticking the sheets to his skin along his forearms and shins, tickling along his hairline, in his beard. He uses the break to scrub a hand over his face, and they haven't gotten to fucking yet and he already feels filthy and debauched and half out of control and it's _great_. 

“You know what to do with that?” he rasps when Loki pulls the foil packet out of the drawer, and gets the usual condescending look for his trouble. 

“It's rather self-explanatory, isn't it?” Loki retorts, but as he scoots back over to put himself back over Tony again he takes a moment to dip his head and kiss him again, warm, damp fingers resting along Tony's jaw, a thumb stroking over the side of his beard, Loki's lips lush and eager, his mouth tangy with the taste of Tony's skin. Tony huffs a moan into the kiss, and Loki presses in harder, licks against Tony's palate. Tony leans into it, returns the favour, and it's him who finally pulls out of it with a scrape of his teeth along Loki's lips. God, those lips– the top one narrow and arrogant, the lower one just a perfect, sinful curve he wants to bite. 

“You gonna fuck me or what?” he demands, his voice rough, and meets Loki's eyes hot and challenging. 

Loki grins, sharp and predatory, presses his mouth to Tony's in another quick hard kiss. “I most certainly will,” he promises darkly, moves to kneel behind Tony, a warm palm low on Tony's back for balance. A crinkle of plastic, and Tony lifts his head to watch over his shoulder, make sure Loki does, in fact, know what he's doing with that condom– but he does, rolls it on after only a moment of study, then kneels up, meets Tony's eyes with that predatory smile of his. His hair is curling messily around his shoulders, and his chest is gleaming faintly in the light that plays subtle shadows over lean muscle, and his eyes are wicked as he reaches to put his hands on Tony's hips and deliberately rocks his hips against Tony's ass– cock rubbing between Tony's buttocks, slick lube and latex, and the hard heat of flesh underneath. 

Tony groans, drops his head and grinds himself back against it, inches his legs just a little wider apart– hears the hitch in Loki's breath, feels his fingers tighten their grip, hips pressing tighter for a moment, the front of Loki's thighs against the back of his. 

Then Loki takes a deep breath, moves himself back a little, shifts so there's only one hand resting in the small of Tony's back. Tony mirrors the deep breath as Loki presumably steadies his cock. Tony can feel the tip of it trail down the crease of his ass and he tries to brace himself and relax at the same time. 

And Loki bears down, and Tony bites his lip, because despite the thorough prep, that's still a stretch and it's not entirely comfortable. It's gonna be so good though in just a little while, he knows that, and he has fucking Extremis, okay, he's spent a lot of time the last six months learning how to control all sorts of things about his own body, and he pushes back against it, and, yeah– still tight but getting better by the moment. 

Loki's hand rubs the small of his back, and he asks: “Alright?” He sounds short of breath but about as sincere as Tony's ever heard him. 

Tony nods. “Yeah. Just… Gimme a sec. You're not exactly small.”

Loki laughs quietly. “Why, I thank you. Take all the time you need.”

Tony narrows his eyes at the bedspread in front of his face, rocks back a little, experimentally– yeah, definitely getting there. “'S not fair,” he observes roughly, does it again, “you being this coherent,” he has to enunciate carefully as he gives a more definite shove backwards against the rock-solid immovability that is Loki's cock, “with your cock in my ass.”

“Stark...” And, yeah, that's more like it. Tony can't see Loki's face, and for all the reaction from his body Tony might not have been doing anything at all, but his voice sounds just a little wrecked. 

“Yeah, you can move,” Tony decides. 

That unmoving presence behind him melts and Loki rolls against him in a slow thrust, and maybe he didn't shake or feel tense at all, but, yeah, apparently that was him holding himself in check. 

Loki gives a purring moan that sends sparks along Tony's spine, or maybe that's the shift and push of his cock in Tony's ass, and he picks up the rhythm, and Loki leans forward, hands bracing him by Tony's sides, and licks up the middle of Tony's back, and gets deeper at the end of every rolling thrust, the strokes in and out of Tony's ass longer. 

Tony's eyes slide closed, and he pants with his mouth open, his fingers tighten in the bedding under him, he starts groaning under his breath, because, yeah– this is damn good. They're still warming up, he knows Loki's holding back– he knows what kind of strength the man currently up his ass and on top of him has, and Loki's not pushing it, he's keeping his weight off of Tony on his own arms so Tony can decide how hard and deep he wants it, how far he meets every thrust, and this might've been a far better idea than Tony first thought. 

Loki's breath is panting against his back, lips and tongue caressing his skin in distracted, hungry kisses, and Tony slams himself back harder, arches and pushes himself until, finally, he feels the press of Loki's hips meet his ass, finally their legs slot together, and that's as deep as it gets– Tony can't get enough of it, picks up speed, because, _god_ – Loki's just the right kind of big, fills him up in just the right kind of dirty, and, yeah– Tony wants to get fucked. 

Loki's on board with that, takes the hint: He shifts his weight a little, back off his arms and onto his thighs, inches his knees further between Tony's and puts his hands back on Tony's hips, takes some of the control back– his grip's not tight, guides Tony into his rhythm more than anything, but Tony's more than happy to comply as Loki shortens his strokes to something faster, harder. He speeds up until Tony's bracing himself against the force of every thrust slamming into him, until his breath's forced out of him in a grunt every other time, and there's the slap of skin on skin when Loki's hips meet his ass. Loki's hands shift, downwards, until his fingers are holding the very top of Tony's thighs, curling into the crease between his hips and stomach, and it's a fucking filthy grip– keeping his ass where Loki wants it and his legs spread, and tantalizingly close to his neglected cock, too. 

When Loki figures out the right angle to hit Tony's prostate, too, on most thrusts, Tony gives up thinking. 

And then Loki shifts his weight again, and there's a hand sliding up Tony's back, his shoulder, his neck– and fingers curl around his throat. For a moment, icy fear curdles in his stomach, he freezes– but the grip is delicate, so careful, so controlled. Loki holds still, buried deep in Tony's throbbing ass, and his fingers aren't closing– Tony could just lift his head to avoid them, nothing like the brutal, crushing dig of his fingernails into Tony's skin two years ago. Loki has some fucking cheek to even try this, but he's just waiting, leaving the decision up to Tony. 

And the fact that he's not going to ignore their history, that he's willing to bring it to fucking bed like this, that it's kinky and wicked and inappropriate… that's _really hot_. 

Tony's never been one for being appropriate, anyway. So he allows his muscles to unlock, lets the weight of his head settle his throat against Loki's grip, the corners of his jaw catching against Loki's knuckles. 

Loki rolls his hips against his ass again, and he's got his entire weight on his thighs, plus getting the momentum he needs to fuck Tony, and that proof of super-human strength is also really hot. 

Loki's other hand pets Tony's side for a moment, then slides along his stomach, down to finally wrap around his cock as he starts building up the rhythm again. His thrusts start to push Tony through the gentle fingers curling around his cock, and the grip on his throat tightens a fraction– _just_ enough to make Tony's already laboured breathing that little bit more difficult, so he can't quite catch a full breath past the restriction, just enough he can feel his pulse throbbing against Loki's fingers to match the pounding in his chest, the thrum in his cock. It leaves him a little dizzy, sharpens the edge of desperation as pleasure builds back up, crackling through him– he arches his ass into Loki's hips to get him just that little bit deeper, get the angle that little bit more perfect– push his cock against the hand that's _not fucking enough_ , he needs more, he needs a firmer grip, but Loki's fingers are still just about holding him, and Tony squirms, bears down against the hand on his throat instead, pushes himself into it, chokes himself on Loki's grip while his fingers pull at fistfuls of expensive cotton, not enough, _not enough_ … 

Loki finally tightens his grip, moves his other hand to cradle Tony's jaw instead, shoves the tips of two fingers into Tony's mouth and Tony nips them sharply and then sucks hard, feels Loki's impeccable rhythm stutter and falter, his hand around Tony's cock clenching for a moment before he catches himself– Tony comes, hard and messy, shuddering all over, toes curling. 

Loki doesn't move, stays frozen with his hands all over Tony, Tony realizes as his brain comes back online in a fuzzy, languid way from the fireworks, and only when Tony feels himself starting to slump does he move his hands, urgently, both damp, one with spit, the other with come, their grip slick on Tony's hips, and Loki finishes himself with a few quick, hard thrusts and a deep groan, and that's gratifyingly desperate and hot. Tony's happy to keep his ass in place for it, arches back to encourage Loki along, and tightens his abused muscles, all of which contribute to Loki's not lasting much longer at all. 

Then Loki kind of collapses over Tony, rests his forehead in the middle of his back, breath panting against Tony's skin for a few moments, though he keeps most of his weight on his own arms, braced on the bed by Tony's side, which Tony appreciates. His breathing settles down quickly, though, and he drops a quick kiss to Tony's back before he withdraws. Takes the condom with him as he goes, too, and he's looking at it a bit quizzically, Tony sees, after he rolls to his side and stretches out his sore legs. 

“Just put a knot in the top and throw it away. There's a trash can next to the night stand over there.” He waves a vague hand over at Loki's side of the bed. 

Instead, Loki closes his other hand around it, and there's a brief flare of green fire. Tony flinches a bit at the expectation of the smell of singed plastic, but it doesn't come, and then the condom's gone. 

Tony raises his eyebrows, remembers Loki doing the same thing with the tissues with his blood on them. “This another magic thing?” he asks, and Loki shrugs, nods. 

“So what would you've done without the condom?” Tony wonders, and sits up enough to dig the covers out from under himself. 

Loki raises an eyebrow, smirks as he scoots towards the headboard to get off the covers. “You're not a sorcerer, and I dare say you'd notice if someone were trying to scrape my spunk off of your thighs before you had a chance to wash.”

Tony snorts, 'cause, “Yeah, I probably would.”

“I just don't wish to leave any of my essence lying around in such a concentrated and easily portable form.”

That maybe kinda makes sense (does magic work with DNA?), so Tony nods as he crawls under the covers, yawns, slumps face-first into his pillow, then turns his head and pries an eye open to glance Loki's way. 

Loki seems to be getting comfortable, settling down, brushing his hair out of his face. 

“You staying?” Tony asks and Loki looks over, pale eyes neutral. 

“I was intending to, yes. Unless you wish me to leave?”

Tony considers it for a moment. But, hell, if Loki wanted to kill him? He'd hardly have needed to wait for him to be asleep. He waves a hand vaguely. 

“Naw. Just not sure of the etiquette, here. I mean, I've never had an alien in my bed before,” he muses. “At least not that I know of.”

Loki smirks a little, pulls the sheet up to his chest. “In Asgard, it would be considered highly discourteous of me to leave. The worst of bad form, really, considering that neither of us has paid the other for the privilege of their company.”

“You only fuck and run on hookers?” Tony wants to know, intrigued by this little bit of Asgardian trivia. It's not the sort of thing that's ever likely to come up in conversation with Thor, after all. 

“Indeed,” Loki agrees. 

“Sure, stay,” Tony says. “Unless you snore. Do you snore? 'Cause I can't sleep with someone who snores.”

“I don't snore,” Loki tells him dryly. 

“That's good then.” Tony yawns again, lets his eyes slide closed. “Night. JARVIS, lights.”

“Good night, Stark.”

***


	24. Chapter 24

_It's gaping before him, the huge, toothy maw, so vast it boggles the mind, and he's speeding towards it, helplessly, inexorably, he's frozen in the blue-lit darkness of his suit. And then it swallows him. Darkness, sticky, wet, gruesome darkness, and he has to get out, he has to kill it, he has to fire his weapons, but he has no weapons, he can't move, he can only fall, fall, fall, he can't find his way out, there's sticky meat and bone all around him and no way out and he's going to die._

***

He jerks awake with swooping, sick dread in his stomach, sweat cold on his limbs, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Stark,” a voice says in the dark. 

He can't say what happens first, it happens all at once, he jumps, scrambles up, away, yelps “Fuck!” and also his eyes take in the black hair and angular face and pale eyes in the cold light of the arc reactor, and also he remembers that voice, memories flash through his head of green and gold, strut and smirk, fear and death. 

He can't turn it off, the hole in the sky, the shrieks of the Chitauri, so many, God, too many, how will they ever, how can they...? Destruction all around, people running, people screaming, people dying, he can't see it but he knows it, every blast, every flying car, every explosion, every crushed building, every crash, there's people, God, there's people on the ground. 

His heart is pounding, and he can't tell, is it now or is it then?, and his breath is short, he tries but he can't get enough air, god, it's like he's drowning, like there's a hand squeezing his chest, he can't, he can't _breathe_!

“Stark,” Loki says again, and maybe his voice is concerned, maybe the way he raises an eyebrow means that, but Tony can't tell through the pounding, rushing, swooping noise in his ears, in his head. 

He has to get away. 

He scrambles up, out of bed, says something, “Sorry, I'm sorry, I need to... I have to...” he doesn't even know what he's trying to say, he's stumbling into his pants somehow. He's vaguely aware that this is humiliating, that he's having another fucking panic attack, that he's having it in front of _Loki_ , but he can't think about that now, he can barely function, he needs to... do something. Something with his hands, he needs to work, clear his head, get these images out, get the emotions under control.

***

Somehow, he makes it into the elevator and to the workshop. His fingers are clumsy as he punches in the code, but he manages, and then he slumps down at his bench gratefully. There's tools and parts of suit strewn across it, bits and pieces of experiments he has on the go. It's... home, it's safe, and he can finally take a full breath. And another. He closes his eyes for a moment, but, no, that's a bad idea, very bad idea. Much better to reach for a piece of shoulder plating and the soldering iron.

There's no sound, no warning 'pop', no rustle. Loki's just suddenly there, fully-dressed in his black leathers and green tunic, on the table top next to Tony, legs crossed elegantly, braced on his hands, eyebrow arched and a few black strands falling into his face while the rest of his hair curls messily around his shoulders. 

“Jesus fuck...!” Tony swears, tool and parts slipping from his clumsy fingers to clatter to the bench as his heart jumps so hard it hurts. 

He rubs his hands over his face but they're shaking so badly, he runs them into his hair and grips hard in an attempt to ground himself. 

“I did not take you for a man inclined to fleeing,” Loki observes, voice light and cool, mildly curious. 

Breathe, Tony tells himself. Just breathe. Just breathe. 

“Flashback,” he forces out, doesn't look at Loki. Instead, he rests his elbows on the table, laces his hands behind his head, and breathes, stares at the grey metal, that scratch he made last week when the screw driver slipped, that dent where something landed when he was doing fire-power tests at the other end of the room. He's here. He's sitting down. He's alive, and he's not falling. He's not drowning. 

“Ah,” Loki says, a sound of sudden understanding. “You suffer the warrior's curse, I understand. Do you wish me to leave?”

“Yeah.” He needs time. He needs space. He needs for Loki to not be here.

“Of course. I apologize for the intrusion.”

And then there's silence. Tony looks up after a few moments, and he's alone. No sign of Loki. Not even when JARVIS runs a scan of the lab. Then the Tower. Loki's gone, just like that, and Tony's surprised, and he can breathe, and... that's weirdly considerate of Loki.

***

He tinkers aimlessly for a while, but nothing much is coming from it, so he eventually sets the screwdriver down.

“JARVIS? What's the time in China?” 

“If you're enquiring for the purpose of contacting Ms Potts, Sir, she's currently in Tokyo, Japan, and the local time is 4:28 pm.”

Tony chuckles a little, because JARVIS is just so sassy and knows him so well. “Alright, JARV, call her up.”

He's still smiling when her face pops up on his screen. “Tony?” She frowns a little. “Is everything okay? Isn't it the middle of the night?”

He shrugs, leans back in his chair. “Yeah, it is. What, are you surprised? You busy? Got time to talk?”

“I'll have to get ready for dinner soon, but I have a little time.” She scrutinizes him, though he doubts she can see too much on the small screen of her phone. “Alright, what's up?”

“What?” He gives her an injured look. “I can't just call you?”

Of course, she only rolls her eyes at him. “You only call when you want something, or when the world is ending. You're not in the suit, so I assume the world is safe.”

He puts a hand on his chest, right over the arc reactor. “Pep! You wound me!”

She arches her eyebrows just as well as Loki does, manages to convey just as much scepticism with his BS. 

Fuck. He shouldn't be comparing her to Loki. Probably? It feels like that way lies madness. 

He sighs, runs a hand over his face. “Okay,” he admits. “I guess, I… Uh, maybe I need some advice? I dunno, it's kinda too late anyway, but...”

“Tony,” she interrupts. “Spit it out.”

“Um. I might have done a stupid thing?”

She narrows her eyes. “Oh god, who did you sleep with? Do I need to call the press corp? Do we need a statement? Is this going to blow up in my face while I'm here? Tony...”

He waves his hands. “No press corp! It's… well, it's not fine, or, I dunno, and anyway, you know me far too well, it's creepy, okay, I mean, what the hell?”

Her eyes are still narrow. “Tony, who?”

He sighs again. “Loki.”

At that, she blinks. “Did you… Did you just say 'Loki'?”

“Yes,” he confirms. “Yes, I did.”

Pepper opens her mouth, closes it again, and, huh– he's actually managed to render her speechless there. 

“I blame you, by the way,” he informs her, nods decisively. “Totally your fault.”

That gets her over the shock. “Me?!” she exclaims. “How is it remotely my fault that you decide to… to… to _sleep_ with the guy who invaded New York?! I've been out of town for less than a _week_!”

He nods sagely. “Exactly. It's your job to be here and stop me if I do stupid things like that!”

She looks at him incredulously. “Like you _ever_ listen.”

“Hey, I listen!” At least he thinks he does. Though, well, now that he thinks about it… “Alright, so maybe that could use some work. Anyway, it's still your fault! You sent me to that party! If you didn't, Loki wouldn't've hit on me there!”

“What party? The one from the Young Talent convention? Loki was there?”

Tony nods woefully. “Oh yeah, Loki was there. Pep… He can turn _female_.” Okay, fine, that last is definitely a whine. He tries to look suitably pathetic to go with it. 

Pepper looks at him for a moment through the screen, and then… then her lips twitch, like she's suppressing a smile. “Loki can turn female?”

Tony nods again. “Yeah, you know, it's this whole stupid magic shapeshifting gig, and fine, so I saw the dragon, and maybe I believe the horse, but apparently that also means _female_. Breasts and everything. _Very nice_ breasts. And everything. Nice everything.”

And then Pepper actually bursts out laughing. She claps a delicate hand over her mouth, fingernails a neutral, pearly shade of rose– very different from Loki's bold green and gold. And also, Pepper's still laughing at him. 

“Oh, Tony…” She shakes her head at him. 

“It's not _fair_ ,” he whines. “He's hot enough when he's strutting around all 'kneel before me, pathetic mortals', it's not fair that he can turn into this smoking hot woman with all these curves. And the legs.”

Pepper's still chuckling at his misfortune. “So was he male or female when you slept with him?”

“Male,” Tony admits, drops his forehead to the table before looking up at her in the screen again. “Pepper, honey, what do I _do_?”

“Well… I'd say 'don't do it again', but you wouldn't be calling me like this if this was a one-time thing, not unless there was some sort of press scandal to clean up, and you said there wasn't, so… You want me to tell you to stop so you can ignore me and feel like a rebel instead of an idiot.”

“Ouch,” he tells her dryly.

“So I'm not going to tell you what to do– this one's on you.” She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “But… he didn't hurt you, did he?”

Tony thinks about it for a second, then shakes his head. “No, no, he didn't.”

“Tony?”

He shrugs. “There was some mild kink involved. _Very_ mild kink, I don't even have a bruise to show for it. No, he didn't hurt me. It was… nice.”

Her eyebrows arch. “Nice?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “I mean, also super-hot, like, melt-your-brain kind of hot, but that's kind of what I expected, you know? But it was a lot more 'let's have some fun times' than 'let's have hot kinky hate-sex', so, yeah. Nice.”

“Huh,” Pepper says. “I guess that's… good?”

“Yeah, sure,” Tony agrees. “Good. Weird, y'know, but good.”

She looks at him, fond and tolerant and exasperated. “I have to go, Tony. _Try_ and be careful, okay? And get some sleep.” 

Damn, he loves that woman. “Sure thing, honey. Good luck with your...” He tries to remember any details of what she's doing over there in Japan, fails, waves a hand. “Whatever it is you're doing. You'll be great, anyway. Have fun!” 

“Thanks, Tony,” she tells him dryly, rolls her eyes. “It's called running your company.”

“See? Told you you'd be great. You're really good at running my company.” He nods. “See you.”

“Yes, I am,” she agrees. “See you.”

The call terminates, and Tony leans back in his chair with a sigh, runs his hands over his face. He doesn't really feel like he's got any more of a perspective on anything that happened in the last six or so hours, but if Pepper didn't freak out completely, it can't be that bad, right? Right. Anyway, he feels better for her knowing, and just for talking to her. 

He puts in another few hours of work, with somewhat more success than before, and finally goes back to bed at something like five in the morning. His sheets are still rumpled, there's still a slight dent in the pillow on the far side where Loki's head was– he has no idea what he feels about that, _if_ he feels anything about that. It's not like he hasn't had any number of people sleeping in his bed at some point or another. 

Not so many in _this_ bed, though– it's not like he's had this bedroom for more than two years, and aside from Pepper, he's not had nearly as many one night stands as he used to. He's… fuck, he's getting too _old_ for that. Sure he likes sex as much as he ever has, but… Yeah, okay, he's not gonna think too deeply on this. Definitely not with Loki in the picture. Not that he's sure what that picture _is_ , precisely, only that, no, he wouldn't mind doing that again, wouldn't mind getting his hands on more of that lovely, lovely skin, wouldn't mind learning how to take Loki apart. 

For now… for now he needs sleep, and so he chucks his clothes and crawls back into bed– a bed without Loki in it, which is just as well right now, so he doesn't have to keep thinking about it. Him. Whatever. 

With the windows blacked out against the rising sun and instructions to JARVIS to let him sleep unless it's something important, Tony settles back down under the covers, and lets sleep pull him under with merciful swiftness.

***

Sam's not sure how this has become his life– sitting by Captain America's bedside for the second time in a matter of months. Only this time, it's not a hospital– it's _Avenger's Tower_. Because apparently he's an Avenger now. He'd been pretty sure Stark was joking the other day, about the “welcome to the team” thing, and the room thing. But when he asked Nat later, she'd shrugged and told him that as far as she was concerned, he _was_ part of the team. And that, no, Stark wasn't joking about the room. “He's an asshole a lot of the time,” she'd said, “but he's also ridiculously generous with his money.”

So apparently he now has a room in Tony Stark's private skyscraper in the middle of Manhattan. And is an Avenger. 

Sure, it was a bit amazing to run into Steve that morning in D.C., and then have him show up at his back door looking for help in saving the world– or maybe the country, more like, but still. And, yes, then he went off with the man to look for Bucky. That was already pretty mind-boggling. 

But Steve… Steve's so _nice_. Nice, and easy-going, and Sam realizes that Steve is very, very good at making you forget he's more than just a guy– he has that way of talking to you, taking you seriously, that the best COs have, a way that engenders trust and emphasizes the things you have in common without sacrificing authority, until you're willing to follow the guy to hell and back before you know it. 

And Sam's okay with that. Sure he got out of the service, and for a good reason– but Steve's worth getting back into the saddle for. He just didn't really expect to end up with the Avengers. 

These are the guys who stopped an alien invasion. For that matter, Thor is an actual alien. And Stark… Stark's the kind of person you see on TV, flashy and sharply-dressed, rich and powerful. It's just plain weird seeing him at home, casual and erratic and grease-smudged. 

And then, of course, there's Loki– the guy who led that alien invasion in the first place, but who the Avengers are working with, now, apparently, and… Okay, Sam hasn't seen much of him, basically just that time when he was staggering through the forest on Hawkeye's shoulder and suddenly there was this tall, dark-haired guy with these towering horns on his helmet, dressed like something from a video game, and there was cold golden armour under Sam's hand where Hawkeye put it on the guy's arm, and the most piercing pale green eyes swept over him for a moment, and before Sam'd quite put together where he'd seen that get-up before, everything turned kind of dark and bright and rushing all at the same time, and then they stood in a corridor and Loki stepped back while Iron Man hauled an unconscious Cap back over his shoulder, and Hawkeye hustled Sam along too, until they're met by people in lab coats and scrubs with gurneys. It happened so fast he wasn't even sure it'd happened at all, first he was one place and then another, maybe Hydra'd finally decided to get into his head after all, until Nat gave him the bare outlines of the story later, confirmed that yes, that was Loki, and yes, that was the same Loki who'd attacked them two years ago, and yes, he had teleported them, (all of which was super-secret and shouldn't be talked about for reasons of magical surveillance). Anyway, Loki probably saved Cap's life with it, she didn't say, but Sam saw how bad Steve looked when Stark hauled him through the forest, and Nat's clipped tone when she relaid his condition didn't hide her worry. 

Sam glances at Steve, pale and still in the hospital bed with monitoring equipment attached to him. Yeah, Loki is damn intimidating, honestly, but maybe next time Sam sees him, he'll thank him.

***


	25. Chapter 25

Some obnoxiously loud sound pulls Tony out of sleep. He's groggy and disoriented and sure it's far too early to be awake. He groans into his pillow. 

“Thought I said not to wake me 'less it's important,” he complains as he tries to decide whether it's worth opening his eyes to find out what's going on. 

“Indeed, Sir,” JARVIS replies in his most dry, British butler voice. “I believe an Avengers emergency qualifies?” Oh, the sass. And, right, that's what that sound is. 

“Alright, alright,” he grumbles as he turns onto his back, scrubs his hands over his face and stares up at his bedroom ceiling while he tries to get his brain in gear. “Turn that off, will you?”

“Very well, Sir.” 

The alarm shuts off to drop him into merciful silence, and he rolls out of bed, winces a little as he pads across the carpet to the closet for an under suit. Right. Got pretty well fucked last night, and his back's letting him know. He takes just a second and a deep breath to smooth out the sore muscles, then pulls out one of his under suits. 

“'Kay, JARV, prep the Mark X-2, and tell me what's happening.”

“There appears to be a portal of some kind in Central Park,” JARVIS reports dutifully as Tony slips into elastic black fabric. “Several creatures have emerged from it.”

“Portal?” Tony asks. “Creatures?” His mind's already on Loki and the Chitauri, and this doesn't help any. Did Loki run a long con on them? But what for? It's not like the Avengers are out of action, it's not like one fuck's enough to make Tony trust him. Tony checks his own mind for a moment, but, nope, he feels absolutely no compunction about finding out what this is all about, no weird urges to throw himself at Loki's feet or whatever. (Except maybe to suck his cock– but Tony's pretty sure that's all him. No mind control necessary.)

“They do not match any records of previously encountered species,” JARVIS informs him helpfully, “although if anything, they appear to resemble wolves.”

Tony almost stops in his jog to the elevator. “Wolves?”

“They are similar in appearance, although of approximately double the size to any species observed on Earth.”

“Alien wolves,” Tony grumbles as he emerges on the workshop floor. “Great.”

The suit's waiting for him and he turns, steps backwards into the familiar embrace of it, waits the few moments as plating slides over his limbs, settles over his chest, as the faceplate comes down and blue light flickers on in the darkness, booting up sequences and system checks flickering past his eyes. The weight settles around him with the soft hiss and click of metal and plastics as the robotic arms let go and he and JARVIS take over, and he crouches and blasts off towards the doors opening on an overcast morning at the end of the workshop.

He swoops out of the tower, JARVIS in his ear, informing him that Thor's already en route, that Nat and Clint are just getting the quinjet started up, Bruce in there with them. Tony opens comm lines to them while JARVIS throws him images of what's happening in Central Park up on the HUD. Thor's apparently forgotten his comm in his hurry. 

Well, whatever's invading them today, at least it really isn't the Chitauri– they do look like wolves. If wolves were the size of a small pony, that is, and kind of more bluish-grey instead of the normal grey and brown. But they're certainly acting like animals. Two've wandered away from the portal and are busy sniffing around the nearby grass and trees, while a third is half in and half out, forelegs on the path, back end still wherever they're coming from, ears flicking back and forth in indecision. The portal itself is a wavering ring about the size of a doorway, fringed in translucent blue-green energy and it's not reminding Tony of anything good. 

Tony lands a good few hundred yards away from the critters next to Thor, who's studying them with crossed arms and a frown. 

“These are of Asgard,” he informs Tony. 

“Figures,” Tony retorts, because where else would giant wolves come from, right? Wait, don't answer that, he doesn't want to know. “So, think we can just herd them back through and close that portal somehow?”

“I doubt it,” Thor answers gravely. “Ice wolves are not pets, to be ordered about. They are fierce and proud creatures.”

“Of course they are,” Tony sighs. “Well, we better do something about them before they decide to eat the tourists.” 

The portal's been opened in one of the more remote areas of the park, but it's only a question of time before the first jogger comes along one of the paths. Nat's on the line with the authorities and is trying to get the park evacuated, but it's going to take a few minutes for that to even get started, and Tony'd rather not wait until these wolves find something more interesting to do than sniff at dog pee on the trees. 

“To battle then, friend,” Thor says by way of agreement, and takes off with a whirl of Mjolnir. 

Tony decides to give the diplomatic approach a try, and approaches the first wolf at a very moderate speed, boot thrusters keeping him at a hover a foot above the ground. 

“Hey, big guy,” he greets the animal, which raises its head to eye him warily (jeez, that's a big muzzle full of long, sharp teeth). “How about you be a good boy and head back to where you came from?” 

It stares at him for a moment with ice-blue eyes, then lifts a leg to pee disdainfully against the tree it was sniffing. Then it bares those many sharp teeth, growls low in its throat, and launches itself at him. 

Tony flicks up his palms and shoots it full frontal with his hand repulsors. That stops the charge, throws the animal back a bit, but not nearly as far as Tony would've liked (must be heavy, the bastard), and it's back on its feet and lunging in no time at all. 

It's also not alone, and there's claws and teeth screeching over metal as the second one uses Tony's distraction to throw itself at his legs. Tony wavers, unbalanced for a moment from his hover before he catches himself with the palm repulsors, and then Mjolnir zips by him and hits the wolf in front of him with a meaty smack, throws it back. 

Tony grabs the wolf behind him by the thick, blue-grey neck fur, and starts to drag it bodily towards the portal, but these are obviously just the advance scouts, because not only has the third one come through but two more as well, and Tony can vaguely see more four-legged shapes on the rocky, snowy terrain behind the portal. He and Thor try to push the animals back, corral them, but soon they're fighting an entire pack of the things and the air is filled with the sounds of snarls and growls and whimpers, the crackle of lightning and the discharge of repulsors, explosions and dust. 

It's not the most terrifying fight Tony's ever been in– they're just animals, without advanced weaponry or magic, and they're not as invincible as, say, that dragon. But there's a lot of them, and they have enough strength to scratch and dent the suit's metal with their teeth, enough that a bite at a joint could punch through, and they're heavy enough that Tony's feeling the strain even in the suit when he has to throw one off. Still, it's not quite a Code Green when the quinjet lands and Nat and Clint join the fray, and with the extra bodies to chase the things Tony thinks they'll actually have a chance to herd them back towards the portal. 

“Okay,” Tony calls as Thor grabs one of them by the ruff and under the legs and throws it through the portal. It lands with a muffled yelp in the snow. “Who do we know who opens magical doorways to Asgard? And how do we close it?”

“My brother,” Thor says as he jumps on the next wolf (literally, he bodily jumps on it) and wrestles it down, “is dead, as you know,” right, not supposed to talk about Loki in public for fear of magical alien spy satellites or whatever, “but he could have done it in his day. However,” Thor climbs to his feet with his arms full of huge, twisting, snarling, snapping wolf and throws it after the other one, “as much as he was for mischief, I don't see him doing something of this sort.” 

Meanwhile, Clint hits two that are charging him with an arrow that explodes into a net of steel mesh, and Tony blasts over there with a jolt from his thrusters and grabs a hold of it. Teeth and claws scrape over his gauntlets while he flies towards the portal, his haul of wolves and net dragging along the ground. It's a bit tricky, without the palm repulsors to stabilize him, but, hey. He's got practise flying in the suit, and he's pretty damn good at it, if he says so himself. 

And he thinks what Thor's trying to say is that while it _could_ be Loki, he doesn't think it is. 

“In any case,” Thor continues while he sends Mjolnir flying into the portal to keep the two on the other side back, “this kind of spell work takes great energy. I would expect it to collapse by itself shortly after the caster ceases to actively keep it open. Yggdrasil does not appreciate having her space forced into such folds.”

“Is it going to explode?” Nat demands from where she drives one wolf backwards with precise shots into the ground in front of its paws. It's not happy going, but it's going. 

“Yeah,” Clint pipes up. “'Cause, you know, the Tesseract kinda exploded even after it closed.”

“This is giving off way less energy than the Tesseract,” Tony observes. He's shoved his bundle of hostile wolves through the portal. As for getting out of the netting, they're on their own as far as he's concerned.

“Friend Iron Man is correct,” Thor agrees. He's now using Mjolnir to whack a wolf about the head until it's slumping to the ground, dazed. “I believe this rupture will heal without further consequence.”

Tony kicks Nat's wolf through to the other side with a well-placed boot to the chest and a bit of repulsor power. Thor hauls the one who's gotten acquainted with Mjolnir through, but there's still a half dozen on this side of the portal, and apparently they realize they're losing the fight, because they turn tail and run– into the trees and scrub that surround the clearing where the portal is. 

Tony curses, and takes off after them. The evacuation is in progress, but that's by no means a guarantee that there aren't any people still nearby. 

“Thor, with me! Nat, Clint, keep the others from coming through again!” he orders, cross hairs zipping across his HUD, bushes and tree trunks glowing with brief blue outlines as JARVIS tries to keep track of the damn things. 

“I will circle around and cut them off!” Thor shouts, and shoots off into the sky before Tony has time to agree or disagree, and then Tony's alone among the trees. JARVIS picks up the tracks of huge paws on the soft forest floor here and there, and so Tony zips after them, dodges tree trunks and branches and bushes, twigs scratching along his armour while his repulsors send leaves skittering. 

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters to himself, then switches to comms. “Hey, Brucie, you think the Hulk wants to come out and play with the puppies after all?”

He hears Bruce sigh, but he says: “Sure, Tony.”

“I mean, it's not exactly the end of the world,” Tony allows, “but we could use an extra pair of hands to catch these things– preferably before they make it much further into the park.”

“Hey, here's a question,” Barton pipes up. “Why aren't we killing them, again?”

“Uh,” Tony says as he turns his head, tries to find more tracks to follow– he's standing under some huge, spreading old tree, and the ground is very dry. “They're kinda sturdy? I don't actually know. But I'd rather not get into trouble with PETA– they're vicious.”

“Tony's right,” Nat agrees flatly, and huh, Tony wouldn't have thought she'd be concerned about 'Avengers slaughter helpless animals' headlines. “It's easier to subdue them and get them back through the portal than to kill them, at this point.” Oh, that. Yes, that sounds more like Nat. 

“Well, if this stupid dog doesn't stay back, I'm gonna to stick an arrow through his throat,” Clint declares. 

There's a short pause, then Nat asks: “Better?”

“What happened?” Tony demands. He (or JARVIS) still hasn't found any new tracks and he's starting to feel stupid, standing under the tree and turning in circles. 

“She hit it in the face with one of her stingers,” Clint tells him, and Tony can hear the grin in his voice. “Didn't like that much, did you, boy?”

“No, Clint, you can't keep it,” Tony quips, gets a sarcastic “Ha ha.” back. 

He's not sure what makes him look up. It's not like he's expecting to find any wolves up in the tree. 

What he _does_ find makes his breath catch– she's _beautiful_. Blond hair falls in gentle waves to bare shoulders, glinting like polished gold in the watery sunlight. Her face is perfect, with high cheekbones and a straight, delicate nose, a firm chin. Her lips, full and red and sensual, make his cock throb in a way that's not a good idea when he's wearing armour, and her eyes are cat-like, wide and green. Her dress is silver, shimmery and clingy, fastened around her neck and flowing down her body in a way that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Tony swallows dryly at the way it hugs her generous breasts, the way he can see the outline of her nipples, and how it clings to her stomach and waist, how it pours to one side over her legs and the tree branch she's sitting on. It's slit up high, high to her hip on one side, and he can see the entirety of one long, shapely naked leg where she has it crossed over the other. She's barefoot. 

She's sitting there on the branch of a tree, possibly the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, with lazy, regal poise, and she's barefoot. 

He blinks, because this is weird and sexy and ridiculous, and she smiles at him with that sinful mouth, winks– and then something slams into his back while JARVIS beeps a warning and he crashes face-first to the ground. 

Rear cameras tell him it's one of the wolves he was after, and by the time he's blasted off out from under it and flipped back to his feet, its friends are charging out of the bushes and there's no sign of the woman in the tree.

***

Later, after the Hulk's done gleefully hurtling yelping, flailing wolves through the portal while Tony and Thor round them up for him, and they've hung out in Central Park for about an hour waiting for the damn thing to finally fade, Tony's not sure whether to mention the thing with the woman in the tree. On the one hand, weird stuff like that happens to them, and you ignore it at your own peril. On the other hand, it's _really_ weird, and he's not entirely sure it actually happened. Especially since all he gets when he asks JARVIS' opinion on the matter is a “Sir?”, and it turns out that according to the suit's recordings, he was looking at an empty tree. No woman, no blond hair, no silver dress.

Now, magic is a thing, definitely a screwing-with-Tony's-equipment thing, but… “Hey guys, anyone else seen any really hot women hanging out in trees recently?” Yeah, no, Clint'd never let him live it down. 

He's still considering his options as they make their way back to the Tower (yes, it's basically a two minute flight) when JARVIS chimes up.

“Sir, I am pleased to inform you that Captain Rogers has regained consciousness.”

For a moment, Tony's so relieved he almost falls out of the sky. “Well, thank _fuck_ ,” he swears wholeheartedly. 

He'd never admit it, but… even with Cap off to chase his missing assassin buddy, and even with the fact that Tony doesn't take orders, okay?, and that he's perfectly capable of leading the team– it feels damn good to know that Captain America has your back. And, yes, they knock heads frequently enough, and Steve's always happy to question Tony's life choices and moral fibre and character, and Tony's just as happy to dig at that stalwart righteousness, but at the end of the day, Tony considers the man a friend. Since they've staved off Loki's alien invasion, they've fought doombots and sea monsters and all sorts of weirdness together, and for all the bickering, that's what counts. 

Consequently, they all pile into the infirmary shortly after, quinjet parked and suit disassembled, Tony hasn't even taken the time to change out of his undersuit. The doctors are very adamant that they need to be quiet, and keep the visit short, lest they endanger Steve's recovery. 

Tony's never quite understood that part– you'd think seeing your friends when you're in the hospital would make you happy and get you healing better, unlike stupidly staring at the ceiling. But whatever. He steps up to the bed, grins his best, charming grin. 

“Hey, Capsicle. How're you feeling?”

Steve's still almost as pale as the bed sheets, there's still monitoring equipment stuck all over him (just like it was in the Hydra lab), and his eyes are cloudy and uncertain, not at all his usual unflinching regard. “… Tony?” he croaks, after a long moment of silence. 

And, shit, his memory– what if…? But he's recognized Tony, so that's good, right?

“Yeah, buddy,” Tony agrees, tries to sound encouraging. “It's me.” He lays a hand on Steve's shoulder, gives a careful squeeze. “Don't worry, I brought the kids, too– except Bruce, he's sleeping, we took the Hulk out for a stroll in the park, so...”

“Shut up, Tony,” Nat interrupts him, and he doesn't have to see her to know she's rolling her eyes at him. She steps past him, takes a seat at the corner of Steve's bed. “Hey, soldier.”

Steve's eyes flicker around the room, rest for a moment on Clint, who's leaning against the foot railing of the bed and gives him a wave, then he jolts under Tony's hand, still on his shoulder, like he's trying to sit up. Tony pushes him back down automatically, says “Hey, whoa, I don't think you should...”

“Sam!” Steve croaks, “you gotta… Where's…?” His hands flicker from one of them to the other, panicked. 

“It's fine, hey, Steve, it's okay, he's fine, he's right over there, okay?” Tony points to the other side of the room, where Sam's slumped into an armchair, fast asleep. “Come on, Barton, wake him up, it'd be a shame for him to do this vigil thing and then miss Cap's return from the dead.” He wants to smack himself the moment the words are out of his mouth, because that just hits a bit too close to home, and the looks he gets from Nat and Clint tell him as much, but he's never claimed tact was his strong suit, so he brazens it out and raises his eyebrows at Clint. 

With a put-upon sigh, Clint rounds the bed and shakes Sam's shoulder. The man comes awake with a startled grunt and a flail of his arm– not that Tony's sure how he's slept through the racket of doctors fussing over Steve and them arriving and all in the first place. 

“Wha…? What're you all doing here?”

Clint points over his shoulder. “Cap's awake, come on, say hi.”

That gets Sam moving, and seeing him visibly calms Steve down again. The nurses shoo them all out again before they can do more than assure Steve that everything's fine, everyone's safe, and seeing the way his blinks take longer and longer, yeah, fine, the man needs his sleep. 

Outside, the doctors are cautiously optimistic– Steve's slipped into a regular sleep now, and he's recognized them, has talked to them. They can't tell what kind of long-term or side effects Hydra's brain-washing machine might have, but whatever damage it's caused, Steve seems to be healing. 

Tony decides this calls for celebration, and has JARVIS order inordinate amounts of pizza for lunch, and gets everyone to pile onto the couches in their common living room slash conference room. And by everyone, he means everyone, including Jane and Darcy and Ian and Sam. Even Bruce is there, even if he's curled up asleep at the end of the couch where Thor put him with a blanket around his shoulders. Nat calls Pepper to give her the good news, and Tony and Clint fight over the best piece of pepperoni pizza until Thor reaches in and steals it, and for all that Tony's pretty successfully distracted himself for the past few days, everything is suddenly so much better.

***

The afternoon finds Tony back in the workshop after the impromptu party's dispersed, and Tony admits it's time to give up on the invisible suit project– at least for the time being. The RF panels just aren't up to taking the abuse he routinely subjects the suit to, so until he comes up with a transparent material that can perform as well as his current alloy (some kind of resin, maybe?) to serve as an outer layer over the panels, he'll just have to cope without being invisible. Instead, he turns his attention to Loki's alien USB stick and its contents.

He's had JARVIS run scans and diagnostics on it for the past day, and now he dives deep into the inner workings of the thing. It's a hell of a lot of fun. He's soldering and wiring and measuring, building a connector for what he thinks is the access port, he's sketching theoretical models of how he thinks it might work, he's out of his depth and in his element– he _will_ figure this damn thing out. 

So he's kind of pissed off when JARVIS clears his throat and lowers the volume on Tony's music. 

“What the hell, JARV?” he snaps.

“Sir. Loki has just appeared in the Tower.”

Oh. Well. “Where?”

“Your bedroom, Sir.” 

Oh. _Well_. That's promising. Sure, last night's little episode was kind of embarrassing, but not enough so to stop Tony from saving all his work and heading straight for the elevator. 

He steps into his bedroom mere minutes later and– freezes. The lights are on at a sultry twenty percent, and Loki's sprawled across his bed, meets his eyes with an inviting smirk. Loki's also female. Again. And dressed in a silky dressing gown of green and gold that, objectively, covers more than that dress did the other day. It's certainly no longer, but at least it has sleeves. The fact that he's certain that Loki's naked underneath suddenly makes it hard to catch his breath, has heat rushing south. 

Those long, pale legs are splayed over his bed spread, naked to well above the knee, the silk only falls across the very top, is loosely tied around Loki's waist and gapes enough to tease at the shadowed valley between Loki's breasts where she's propped up against the headboard, one slender wrist resting on a propped-up knee, the other hand playing teasingly with one end of the sash. And, God, he'll never again be able to look at Loki's hair, open and falling to his shoulders, without remembering the way it does that when he's naked, or near enough so. Or she is. Whatever. 

Loki manages to look indolent and exotic and far, far too seductive, and raises an eyebrow as if to ask what Tony's still doing all the way over there. For that matter, Tony has no idea. 

So he walks over, puts his knee on the mattress and crawls up, between Loki's legs. Loki obligingly spreads them wider apart to make room for him. Tony thinks he might die. 

“Why are you female?” he rasps out, barely recognizes his own voice. 

Loki smiles, wide and wicked, and gives him a smouldering look from under her lashes. 

“You let me fuck you so beautifully last night. I thought it only polite to return the favour.” She drops the sash, hooks two fingers into the collar of Tony's t-shirt to pull him in a little further, than runs her palm up the side of his neck and into his hair. He leans a little into that hand as it passes his neck, feels his eyelids flutter as he remembers the touch of those fingers around his throat. He blinks his eyes open again when he realizes what he's doing, but it's too late. Loki's looking at him with dark, hungry eyes.

“I can shift if you'd prefer,” she says, voice so low it might as well have been his (her?) male one. 

Tony considers it for a moment, but... 

“No,” he says. “This is good.”

'Good' is such an understatement. His eyes fall down to the curves of her breasts under the silk, the expanse of pale skin already showing. Oh, he wants to find out whether it's really all real, he wants that very badly. 

Loki shifts a little, settles further back under him. Her fingers card through his hair, and she gestures at herself with her other hand, a lazy wave. 

“Well, then. Feel free to have me any way you please.”

Tony can barely breathe. And not in the 'imminent panic attack' way, but in the 'I want it so bad I can taste it' way. He leans forward and down, kisses Loki. She hums agreeably, opens her mouth and lets him take what he wants. It's probably a game, an illusion, but female Loki seems softer than male Loki, more pliant. He kisses her deeply, trembles a little with the awareness of her nearly-naked body underneath his. 

Her eyes are heavy-lidded when he pulls back, the bright iris almost invisible in the dim light around her blown pupils, her lips parted. 

Tony sits back between her thighs and reaches for the sash of the gown, holds her eyes, kind of expects to be told “nope, sorry, just kidding.” But Loki just shifts to rest on her elbows and watches him. The movement brings his attention back to her breasts, and she arches her back a little, tips her head back with a smirk– displaying herself for him, and he can see the outline of nipples under the silk. He drops his eyes back to the sash, and pulls it open. It's only loosely tied, a tease more than a barrier, like this entire tableau of Loki's. 

He reaches out for one lapel, flicks his eyes back up to Loki's, but she's still just watching him, so he settles one hand on the silk at her shoulder, then the other on the other side. The fabric is thin and slick and warm with body-heat under his fingers. 

He brushes it aside. It falls off Loki's shoulders with a whisper of cloth on skin, pools around her elbows and for a moment, he sits back and just looks. 

Loki _is_ female. The line of her shoulders is much narrower, much softer even if she's just as leanly muscled as her male form. Her stomach is flat but a little less defined than yesterday, her waist a gentler curve, her hips rounder. Tony's eyes settle on her crotch again, and, yes, female. He runs his eyes back up, takes in her breasts, soft and pale and generous, the graceful curve of them, the tight, pink nipples at the tips. 

And he's seen plenty of breasts in his day, real ones and fake ones and really good fake ones, so he can tell with certainty that these? Are real. 

Loki's content to let him look his fill, dark-eyed and with a small smirk when he drags his eyes back to her face. 

“Oh, but this form does please you, does it not?” she purrs, with a wicked smile. 

“Sure does,” Tony agrees hoarsely, and leans forward to kiss her again. 

The thing is, he _knows_ women. He's by no means a virgin when it comes to men, but between opportunity and convenience, the vast majority of his experience is with women. And it is a lot of experience. And sex, like many things, is really a matter of practise. 

Every woman is different, maybe more so than men. But then, maybe that's just another cliché, a misconception. However, Tony does know how to find out what makes a specific woman tick, and fast. Again, practise. 

He knows how to have fun in the bedroom with a man. He knows how to give a woman the fuck of a lifetime. 

And he's determined to prove as much to Loki.

***


	26. Chapter 26

Tony pulls out of the kiss slowly, lingers with his lips on Loki's for a moment before he meets her eyes again. Loki raises a quizzical eyebrow, just a little bit, and it's a challenge, and so Tony drops his head, holds her eyes until his lips brush the top of her breast, sees her gaze darken. He skims his lips over her skin until they meet her nipple– Loki arches a little under him, and he gives it a flick with his tongue. He feels it tighten further, hears Loki take a deep breath, and yeah, he's doing something right here. 

He shifts his weight a little so he can lift his hand and cup it around her other breast, brush his thumb over that nipple and feel the weight of it against his palm. The curve of it fills his hand perfectly, and if anything, Loki's skin is even softer here than anywhere he's touched yesterday. 

And Loki said whatever he wants, and she's arching into his touch, and so he tips his face down into the valley between her breasts and moves up with his lips parted, with a tease of tongue and a scrape of beard. 

Loki moans and tips her head back so he can continue up to her clavicle, dip his tongue into the hollow of bone at the base of her throat, can press kisses along one shoulder. She shifts a little under him, there's the slick rasp of silk as she frees the arm of the shoulder he's not tasting, and then her fingers run into his hair, strong and demanding. She pulls him up into a kiss, one that's hungry and unashamed and makes Tony very aware of the fact that he's still mostly dressed– his jeans are getting uncomfortably tight. 

But he's kind of enjoying the contrast, crouching over her like this, not even touching except for their lips and the hand he still has on her breast, and her body splayed out and naked for him. 

He pulls away from her mouth, nips at her chin, smirks a bit at the hooded look she's watching him with– smirks more at the way her eyes clear a little and narrow, until he flexes his fingers, circles his thumb over her nipple again, and her eyelids flutter and her deep breath pushes her soft flesh further into his grip. 

“Stark...” she growls, and he flashes her a grin as he does that again, puts his mouth back on her other breast. He trails his lips along the outside of it, then licks a stripe over the soft bottom of it, up over her nipple. He gives it a suck, then runs his teeth over it, lightly. Loki's breath hitches. 

Tony lingers for another few moments, teases her with lips and tongue, then moves on downward– follows the tail end of her sternum to the softness of her stomach, feels it flutter under his lips as he dips his tongue into her navel. Her thighs are spread on either side of him, and he strokes his hand along the outside of one, hip to knee, that silky skin catching against his calluses. He presses a last kiss just above her pubic hair (Loki's au naturel– no sign of shaving or waxing like he's used to), and then he lifts his head to catch her eyes again. 

She's watching him alright, tilts her head to the side a little, raises one eyebrow a little– this is his show. 

It's damn heady. 

He holds her dark, heavy gaze as he lowers his head again, and Loki arches that eyebrow a little higher. 

“And here I intended to be the one to please you,” she observes, voice quiet and dark and amused. 

“Oh, this is gonna please me,” he retorts, and then puts his mouth between her legs.

***

Yeah, going down on Loki pleases Tony– he's good at it and she's vocal, and that's _him_ , and it's a bit of a power trip.

He grazes her clit with his teeth, and Loki jerks under him, moans loud and long. Seems she really does appreciate a touch of teeth. Tony wonders if he'd get the same reaction if he did this to Loki's cock. 

While he loves playing a woman with his mouth, he's never been that fond of blowing a man. But now, with the noises Loki's making, he'll just have to find out if he'll sound anything like this as a man. 

He sucks, presses with the flat of his tongue, finds just the right spot to circle. Loki's legs are wide apart, and she's starting to ride up into his mouth, fingers tight in his hair. She's making these breathy little moans with every exhale that are very, very female. Oh, she's getting close. 

He shifts a little, enough that he can fit a hand between her legs, his other pressing down on her stomach. He finds her wet, and there is something to be said for not needing to bother with lube. He considers what he knows of Loki, takes a guess and a chance, and shoves two fingers deep while he gives the lightest of nips, then sucks hard. 

He's right. 

Loki gives a half-strangled shout, and comes, back arching, tightens her fingers to keep Tony's mouth on her as she shudders under him, keening in the back of her throat. 

He sits up as she slumps back and he knows his grin is smug as he swipes a thumb over his chin and bottom lip. 

Loki's chest is heaving, her eyes glazed, her hair a dark, tangled mess. 

Tony runs his other hand over her breast, strokes over a tight nipple while he sucks his thumb clean. Loki moans. 

He rests his hands on the bed next to her head, leans over her. “Good?” 

Loki gives a wordless growl, and pulls his head down to kiss him. Evidently, she doesn't mind her own taste on him. 

Her hands push under his t-shirt to run along his stomach and his sides, and he laughs a little as he lifts his mouth from Loki's so she can yank it over his head. Loki wants him naked, and urgently, and it's making him a little high, the way her eyes skim hungrily over his chest and shoulders. It also makes him want to tease, so he catches her wrists when she goes for his fly, tells her “Nuh-uh” with a smirk.

“I'm not done with you yet. Turn over.”

Yeah, he's totally going to see how far he can push this “anything he wants” deal. 

Loki narrows her eyes in warning, holds his gaze long enough to make sure he's got the message– she's the one deciding how much she's gonna give him. Then she pulls her hands away from his pants, and turns over. 

He sits back on his heels so she can rearrange her legs around him, and sure, his jeans are kinda really tight by this point, and she can't even see that he's wearing them, but there's a whole lot of naked skin in front of him, tinted a soft gold by the low light against the splash of green and gold of the dressing gown still trapped and crumbled under her, all vibrant against his charcoal grey sheets. If he could paint, he would paint this. He certainly hopes JARVIS is recording, resists the temptation to check, because he's not sure he'll ever need anything else to jerk off to than the sight of Loki's long, elegant body sprawled over his bed, black curls cascading over one shoulder, the curve of her back and the dip of her spine, and that tight, fabulous ass and those long, long legs… 

She turns her head, gives him quizzical eyebrows and a hint of a smirk after he's spent long moments just kneeling there between her calves and admiring the view, so he shifts forward again, braces his hands against the sheets to either side of her, and puts his mouth against her shoulder for a start, tastes the smooth, thin skin over the muscle and bone. It makes the seam of his jeans dig into his throbbing cock, and it's uncomfortable but also kind of good and, yeah, he's teasing himself as much as he is her. 

He moves in, discovers that the back of her neck is sensitive– she shivers when he kisses it, when he rubs his chin across it as he inhales the scent of her hair. It tickles against the side of his face and the bridge of his nose. He kisses his way down her spine, which Loki appreciates with a flex of her body and a moan that might as well be a purr. When he reaches the small of her back, he has to shift his weight backwards, and that means he has his hands free to run along her legs, to dig his fingers into lean muscle. He licks the deepest dip of her spine, tastes skin and sweat, and then continues right down her tail bone– and on.

“Wait,” Loki says, and Tony pulls back, unsure. 

She rolls onto her side, closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths, each slower, calmer than the last. Then, eyes still closed, she gestures with one hand, a complicated, weaving gesture, while she murmurs a string of foreign syllables under her breath. 

Tony's blinking in confusion when she opens her eyes again, and she gives him a sly look and a smirk. “Wards,” she explains. “Against intrusion, and for sound-proofing. I am about to get very loud.”

And, oh god. For a moment, Tony actually thinks it might be possible to pass out from being too turned on. He bites back a whimper, and, oh fuck, he's so hard. From the look she gives him, Loki knows exactly what she just did to him. 

She turns onto her front again, crosses her arms on the pillow, and hitches that wonderful, pert ass up, spreads her legs. “Please,” she says, not a plea, no, a gracious permission, a 'go ahead, help yourself.'

(Of course, he could point out that his walls _are_ perfectly sound-proof, thank you very much, and no one's getting in here past JARVIS, but. Loki's _ass_. In front of his face. Priorities.)

He reaches out, runs a hand along Loki's flank, his thumb across her ass while his fingers travel from her hip down the outside of her thigh, and then he leans in and presses his lips against the very end of her spine again. Loki flexes a little, not enough to dislodge him, and hums. Tony opens his mouth, gives the first lick, just a brush with the tip of his tongue, dipping into the crease. This time, Loki shivers, and the sound of pleasure she makes is a lot more guttural. So Tony repeats the same gesture a little further down, hears her breath speed up again as he tastes sensitive, intimate skin. He shifts his weight a bit, onto his thighs, so he can reach up, cup that firm, round flesh, and part it. When he trails his tongue down the length of the crease, Loki groans. Tony grins for a moment, she can probably feel it against her skin, drops a quick kiss onto the firm flesh his fingers are digging into, and then gets to work.

***

Super-strength, he discovers, affects all muscles of the body, so rimming Loki? Is hard work. His jaw is aching, but it's oh so worth it, because Loki, it turns out, is a complete slut for a tongue up her ass. And she wasn't kidding when she said she was gonna be loud.

It's incredibly hot. That's Loki, squirming under him, sounding like she's having the time of her life, utterly unselfconscious, unrestrained. And Tony has a bit of a thing for knowing he's doing a good job, for taking his partner apart, so this is definitely doing it for him. Definitely, _definitely_ doing it for him. He's pretty sure it's not physically possible for an erection to burst the seams of your average pair of jeans, otherwise he'd be doing it right now. 

“Can I fuck you?” he asks, rests his sweaty forehead against the middle of her back, his hands at her hips. 

“Of course.” There's a catch in her voice, a breathlessness, and he can feel the heat of her skin against his forehead. 

He lifts his head, finds her looking back at him over her shoulder with a smirk. “Any way I want?”

“Absolutely _any_ way you want.” she purrs. Her lips are full and dark, her cheeks flushed, a black curl stuck to the right one. 

His fingers tighten around her hips, digging into soft skin and firm flesh. 

“Stay right there.” Throat dry, heart pounding fast, he crawls over to the night stand, finally undoes his fly with one hand while he digs for condoms and lube with the other. Oh, god, sweet relief– he's been way too hard for way too long inside his jeans now. 

His fingers find the familiar bottle and plastic wrappers, and he moves back behind Loki, between her knees– and she hasn't moved an inch, just like he asked, arms folded on the bed spread and pert ass up, just watches him with dark, expectant eyes and the hint of an eager smile on her lips.   
He runs one hand over her ass, just because he can, then shoves his jeans down enough to be out of the way, unscrews the lube. 

And you gotta hand it to Loki, when she says “any way” she means any way, because she doesn't object in the least when he pushes two lube-slick fingers into her ass, she just hums a little moan and arches back into it. 

And, sure, it's not like _he_ objected to Loki's cock up his ass yesterday, he likes it, but it's not like there's an alternative between two men (well, okay, yes, there are, but not if you're talking full-on penetrative sex), and while he's known plenty of women who enjoy anal he's known a lot more who draw the line at that. 

Not Loki, clearly. 

No, she's riding back onto his fingers a time or two, and she's so tight and hot and wet around them that Tony can't take it anymore, he gets that condom on in record time and then it's his cock going in there and it's so good that when he stops after an inch it's as much to grab at his fraying self-control as it is to give Loki time to adjust. Not that she needs it, anyway, because she just pushes right back until he's seated as deep as it gets, and, yes, self-control, he has that, he's not gonna come, not when they've barely started, he's not gonna embarrass himself like that. 

Loki moans luxuriously, and rolls her hips backwards with a cat-like arch, so Tony takes the hint and pushes into her. The groan that drags out of his throat is almost pained, because the heat of her body is incredible, and it's tight, and the instinct to just keep thrusting until he comes is overwhelming. Loki's back is long and supple and golden in the bedroom lights, his hands tan-dark against her skin. But he's not gonna come yet, no he's not, he sets a pace that's long, powerful strokes, even though his breath is sawing out of his lungs, and sweat is starting to trickle along the side of his face, he licks his lips, tastes the salt in the prickle of his beard. Every thrust sends a jolt deep inside him, up his spine and down his legs and into his balls, which are tight between his legs, but, nope, he's not gonna come. Instead, he runs his hands across Loki's back and sides, and then moves one to her stomach, and down, the scratch of pubic hair and then soft hot skin against his fingertips. Loki gives a shuddering moan, grows more pliant under him. 

Damn, it hurts to hold on, to keep himself back from the edge. Loki's firm and warm and soft against his hips with every thrust. She's moaning, hands clenched in the sheets, hair a curly, black, tangled mess falling over one shoulder. His fingers are hot and slick between her legs. His arm trembles a little as he leans forward to lick one pale, sweat-sheathed shoulder. She tastes like sweat and skin, and he nips her, not entirely gentle. She makes a tortured sound, and he keeps going, sets his teeth into the muscles along her spine, between her shoulders, trails lines of biting kisses wherever he can reach. 

“Oh, sweet Fates, _yesss_ ,” she hisses, and her legs drift wider apart even as she arches her back even more, presses her ass into his thrusts. Her moans are getting louder, shorter, her body tenser. He presses his fingers against her harder. She's so wet it's difficult to get friction, but she's close, and he'll have her come under him like this if it kills him. He scrapes his chin along her spine, feels her shiver, turns his head and bites down, hard, even while he forces himself to keep his rhythm steady, his fingers tight against her. 

Loki bucks under him with a shout, and he both loves and hates Extremis, because it's the only reason he's not coming as her body spasms around him. It's the sweetest torture, to keep going, to fuck her through it, keep her coming for another second, and another one, grinding his teeth down until he tastes blood. 

He finally lets her go when she slumps to the bed under him, breathing hard. He sits back, rips the used condom from his dick and fumbles on a fresh one, then turns her over with a hand on her hip. 

She rolls over compliantly, pulls her leg in so she doesn't kick him. Her eyes are dark and heavy-lidded with satisfaction. She smiles deviously when she sees he hasn't come yet, understands what he's planning to do. 

She half-laughs, half-moans when he grips her thighs, rubs his thumbs over the soft skin, and thrusts in. 

He has to take another moment, rest his forehead against the top of the swell of her breasts as he focuses on disrupting a few signals from his hind brain that would've had him coming at the glorious feeling of her surrounding him again tight and hot. He feels a hand settle against the back of his head, fingers scratching his scalp fondly. Loki's still smiling at him when he lifts his head to look at her. 

He leans over to kiss her, slides his hands up into the bend of her knees while their mouths and tongues stroke against each other. Then he sits back a little for leverage, and snaps his hips forward.

“Ah!” Loki gasps, throws her head back, then looks up at him, drags her teeth over her bottom lip, slow and deliberate, the tease. Holding her gaze, he does it again, tilts his head, adjusts his angle slightly, and this times she moans, eyelids fluttering, and jack-pot. 

He gets to work, looks for the right rhythm, and thank God, it's hard and fast, because Extremis or no, if he doesn't come soon, he's pretty sure he's gonna die. 

But Loki's still keyed up from her last orgasm, and it doesn't take long at all before she's arching into him and scrabbling at the sheets. Tony's fighting hard to keep his eyes open because Loki writhing on the bed in pleasure as he fucks her isn't a sight he's willing to miss, but it's hard, because it feels so good, it's increasingly difficult to think of anything beyond the need to thrust until he comes. 

“Touch yourself,” he demands hoarsely, and Loki's eyes flutter open to meet his. Loki tries to smirk at him, but it's interrupted by a moan as she slides her hand between her legs, and Tony has to tilt his head back to stare at the ceiling and grind his teeth for a moment to hold out that little bit longer. 

By the sounds she's making, the urgent, determined way her hand moves, it's not going to take her long. So Tony shifts his grip to her hips to hold her tight against him, feels her heels cross behind his back, and lets himself go, just lets his body set the rhythm, forgets about everything but hot, wet, willing heat and the sound of flesh on flesh and that glorious, approaching spark of orgasm.

***

When it's over, Tony feels like his bones are humming. He knows Loki came about a fraction of a moment before he did, but it's all very fuzzy and his brain needs a moment to reboot from that blissful space of release where everything stopped, where he wasn't thinking and it was all just rush and breath and heat and shudder.

Loki's giving him a lazy smile when he drags his eyes up to her face, laughs when he sprawls face-down on the bed next to her after he's quickly gotten rid of the condom. Maybe he does need to run those tests- condoms are annoying. If they're gonna do this again. He turns his head and pries an eye open, and there's still a flush to Loki's cheeks and that smile lurking around the corners of her mouth, and, yeah- he's just gonna assume they're doing this again. 

Loki meets his eyes. “I think,” she says, voice still husky, “I'm in need of a shower.”

He waves a hand vaguely in the direction of the door to the bathroom. “Towels, shampoo, stuff… help yourself.”

He rolls over as she sits up, watches as she slides long legs over the corner of the bed. She stretches as she pads towards the bathroom, arms overhead and every gorgeous inch tight and flexing, and hums, pleased. She turns her head, smiles at him. “Oh, I haven't been fucked this well in a long time.”

Tony gives her a roguish grin. “Believe me, the pleasure was all mine.”

Loki laughs, and throws him a toothy, wicked grin of her own. “Well?” she asks, gestures at the bathroom. “Are you not joining me, then?” 

Loki. Shower. Wet, naked Loki in the shower. Yeah, no, he doesn't need to be asked twice. He kicks his pants off the rest of the way, scrambles off the bed to follow her as she vanishes around the door with a cheeky wink.

***

The sound of falling water fills the bathroom just when he steps inside. Loki's in the shower, back towards him and head tilted up into the spray while her black hair cascades over her shoulders, grows heavy with water. She lifts her hands, runs them through it. The motion lifts the outer curve of a breast he can see, draws his gaze to the lines of her waist and hips.

He grabs for his toothbrush and the toothpaste, scrubs and spits quickly, then heads over to the shower and the glass door Loki's left open in invitation. She turns her head to look at him as he steps up behind her, settles his hands on her hips, and then she turns around in his arms and leans in to kiss him. Water cascades off her shoulders and sprays against his chest, slides warmly down between their bellies, and her breasts are pressing against him, soft and pillowy. He strokes his hands over her hips, up along her waist and to her back to pull her even closer, feels one of her hands sink into his hair while her other hand settles in the small of his back. 

For long minutes, he just enjoys the way she kisses him, open lips pressing in then retreating, her tongue teasing his, encouraging him to kiss her deeply. The air's filling with steam, and there's a cold draft against his naked back because he's neglected to close the shower door, and warm water swirls around his toes. 

Eventually, he pulls back, grins at how wide and dark Loki's pupils are despite the bright bathroom lights. He lets go long enough to close the shower door, and when he turns back, Loki's holding out a bottle of shampoo to him. 

“I believe you'll need this to wash my hair.” 

He can't help it, he laughs, even as he takes the bottle. “Bossy. I thought it was 'everything I want' night?” 

Loki gives the most fabulous shrug, the way her shoulders lift elegantly, the way her breasts move with it. “It is. Why, do you not want to?”

And of course he wants to. 

“Sure. Turn around.”

She smirks as she does. “You like me that way, don't you?”

“Yeah,” he admits, and runs his hand down her back, gives her ass a quick squeeze and her thigh a suggestive stroke before he flicks the bottle open and pours shampoo into his palm. He has to reach past her to set the bottle back onto the shelf built into the back wall of the shower, and takes that opportunity to kiss her shoulder, too. She makes a little, happy sigh that he's quite familiar with now, and relaxes back into him, just a bit. When he raises his hands and starts running them through her hair, massaging shampoo into it, she all but purrs. 

It's… nice. Again, the word he finds is 'nice'. The air is warm and humid around them, the rush of the water soothing. Loki's hair slides through his fingers rich and thick, curls smoothed out by the weight of the water, and her body brushes against his whenever either of them move. 

He strokes his hands through her hair, drops his head to kiss her other shoulder, rubs a thumb along the back of her neck. Loki hums in pleasure, reaches back to pull him closer by the hip. With their difference in height, it nestles his hardening cock against her thighs, pushes her ass low against his stomach. He plays with a strand of her hair, winds it around his soapy finger, then lets it slide free, brings his hands around her to cup her breasts. The water quickly washes away the shampoo as he teases at her nipples. He turns his head to brush kisses against the side of her neck, and she tilts her head back against his shoulder to give him better access. Her eyes are nearly closed when he looks up, black eyelashes clumpy with moisture resting against her cheeks. Her features are relaxed, pale skin flushing, lips parted a little, and her breasts are pushing into his hands as her breathing speeds up. 

He shifts his grip, moves his left hand so he's cupping her right breast, cradling her chest against his arm, and trails his other hand down her stomach, through the spray of the shower water and across her navel, and then between her legs. She moans when he cups her groin, widens her stance a little when he curls two fingers so they just slide inside of her. He kisses the corner of her jaw, the side of her face, the shell of her ear while he flexes his fingers, circles her nipple with the thumb of his other hand. 

Loki glances at him sideways, her iris nothing but a narrow ring but still incongruously bright around her wide, dark pupils. 

“Fuck me already, will you?” she murmurs. 

“Gimme one of those.” He points with his chin towards the condoms in the corner of the wall shelf. Hey, he's got his hands full. And, yes, he's fond enough of shower sex that he keeps condoms on hand in his shower. 

Loki follows the gesture and plucks one off the shelf, hands it to him over her shoulder– then makes an outraged noise when he pulls his hand from between her legs to take it. 

“Right-handed, so sorry,” he informs her and knows she can hear the smirk. Not that it matters, he has to let go of her and step back a little to put the thing on anyway.

Loki doesn't grace him with an answer and instead takes the opportunity to brace herself against the wall and to spread her legs… which is a sight to get any man hard, surely. Obviously, it draws his attention back to that wonderful ass, but he doesn't actually keep lube in the shower, and water or shampoo don't actually make great substitutes, so it'll have to be the old-fashioned way. Not that he minds. 

He reaches across her to turn the shower controls off, because he wants to enjoy the view without water spraying into his eyes, and also his shower's floor might be textured to be less slippery, but still. 

Loki wriggles her ass impatiently, takes one hand off of the wall so she can swipe her hair out of her face and over one shoulder and glare at him. He grins at her, runs his hands down her back and steps close enough to feel her against the tip of his cock, hot through the latex. 

Loki doesn't grace him with an answer, but her look is very “Well, about time,” before she puts her hand back on the wall. 

Tony steadies himself, and sinks into her, moans at the sensation. He's not quite as desperate as he was earlier, and so for the first few minutes, he sets a long, lazy rhythm, just enjoys the easy slide, less punishingly tight, enjoys the heat around his cock, while he runs his hands over every part of Loki he can reach. 

It doesn't last long, of course– did he mention that his body is essentially twenty again? As he picks up speed and force, he runs his hand back between Loki's legs, matches the pace of his thrusts with his fingers. Loki groans wholeheartedly, tilts her hips a little until she's happy with the angle, and presses back against him. 

Tony feels the strain in his back, in his ass and thighs, and his breath is loud and rough in the quiet, enclosed space of the shower, but it feels just so good– he loves sex, he really does. 

So does Loki, it looks like, because it's not just his noises echoing off the tiles. She's gasping and moaning, too, little “hah” and “ah!” noises, and that's driving him crazy at least as much as the wet, hot slide of his cock into her. He kind of wishes he could reach her breasts, but that'd mean shifting his weight on the slick floor and changing the angle. So he just keeps going, and going, and going, until the need to come is just as bad as it was before, until he's gritting his teeth to keep himself in check. 

“Go on,” Loki says hoarsely. “You can finish me with your mouth.”

It's tempting, it really is, but... 

“No,” Tony growls, gives a sharp thrust, pushes hard with his fingers. “You're coming with my cock in you.”

Loki moans, spreads her legs a little wider, pushes back against him a bit more. “Faster, then,” she demands. 

He complies, and again, bless Extremis. He wouldn't have the stamina for this otherwise. Loki shifts so she's bracing with only one hand, reaches back with the other to hook it over his thigh and ass, fingers digging into the crease where they meet, pulls him in as tight as possible. God, he's so deep inside her, rutting in short, sharp thrusts, and her fingers are gonna leave bruises, he's pretty sure.

“Stark...” she moans, and he knows she's close. 

“You could call me Tony,” he offers, his voice a rasp, “considering.” 

She doesn't even hesitate. “Tony...”

He feels like his brain short-circuits. His name, in that voice, in that sophisticated, superior voice when it's all ragged and desperate, and… 

“Fuck,” he swears, and it's over, his balls contract, it feels like his entire body contracts, and there's no control anymore, his hips thrust another time or two and then he's coming. 

Luckily for his ego, Loki likes that, because he feels her shiver, hears her drawn-out moan through the rush of blood in his ears.

***

Of course, Loki recovers annoyingly fast, so he ends up with his forehead resting against her shoulder, catching his breath, when she straightens up. She releases his thigh, but not without an appreciative stroke along his ass, then reaches over her shoulder to ruffle his hair. He feels her shift a little, then damp plastic nudges against the back of his hand where it's resting against her stomach.

“Now you can clean me up,” Loki says, and he looks over her shoulder to see it's his bottle of body wash she's trying to hand him. 

“Boy, you're demanding,” Tony grumbles, but he's biting back a grin. 

“Why?” she asks, eyebrow high. “Are you complaining?”

No, he's not, in fact, complaining about another excuse to put his hands all over Loki, so he takes the bottle and makes sure to wash her– very thoroughly. Loki returns the favour, too, and it probably says something about how well-fucked they both are that he doesn't get hard from her hands all over his bits, so no, they don't go for another round. Instead, they manage to clean up eventually– even if they get side-tracked for a good while with teasing and groping and making out, and Tony congratulates himself once more on designing the Tower so it doesn't do something so plebeian as run out of hot water.

***

When they're out of the shower and Tony's towelled himself off, he hesitates a moment, then figures, what the hell. “Were you in Central Park today?”

Loki turns her head from where she's squeezing the water from her hair with a towel, blinks. “No. Why?”

If she's lying, Tony can't tell. Not that he'd expect to be able to, if Loki put her mind to it. He shrugs. “Someone opened a portal to what I assume was Asgard and let something through for us to play with, Thor said they were ice wolves.”

Loki's brows scrunch together in that kind of adorable way he (and, apparently, she) does. “A portal between Midgard and Asgard to let through some _wolves_? Why would I do that? Why would anyone?”

“Yeah, I don't know,” Tony admits. “But… I saw a woman. I mean, she was blond, and didn't look like you, but with this whole shapeshifting thing, you can probably look like anyone you want to, and she had green eyes, and really nice legs...” He looks at Loki's long, bare legs for a moment, and… nope, he can't tell if they're the same legs, but it's definitely a toss-up as to which are nicer. Her eyes, though– they weren't quite the same pale, icy green Loki has, but rather more the same colour as the young leaves on that tree. 

Loki, meanwhile, freezes in her hair-drying, and straightens, slings the towel over her shoulder. “Blond and green eyes, you say?” she demands, takes a step closer to him. “Was she beautiful?”

“Uh...” Tony eyes Loki carefully. “Kinda? Not that you aren't,” he hastens to add. “I mean, it's difficult to compare, right, beauty's in the eye of the beholder and all...”

Loki rolls her eyes. “Oh, shut up. Is this her?” She conjures up one of her little green magical holo-projections, and… 

“Yep. That's her.”

Loki swears (in Asgardian, but the tone gives it away), then she steps up to Tony, grabs his chin and tilts his head to stare into his eyes. “Did she touch you? Do you feel any urges to serve her? Do you love her?”

Tony blinks, pulls his head back. “No, she didn't touch me. I mean, she smiled and winked at me, I think, and then she vanished. And, no, no urges to serve, and I don't love her, what the hell? Is this a magic thing? Who was she?”

Loki releases his chin, brushes her hands lightly over his shoulders and down his arms before she steps back. “Amora,” she sighs. “The Enchantress. She specializes in spells to manipulate and enslave anyone attracted to her.”

“Uh… That'll be a lot a' people.”

“Yes, indeed,” Loki agrees dryly. “You no doubt among them.”

Tony shrugs, gives a half-smirk that's cocky confidence mixed with chagrin. “Well, I have a pulse, don't I? She's hot.”

“Yes. But I think you're safe this time– you probably wouldn't have been as appreciative of my presence as you have been if she'd cast anything on you.”

“Yeah, that woulda sucked,” Tony agrees. Missing out on the chance to have his way with female Loki, missing the last few hours they've just had due to magical mind-fuckery? Yeah, that wouldn't've been cool. 

Loki laughs, and leans in to drop a kiss against the side of his mouth, then steps back and resumes drying her hair. Tony heads out into the bedroom to grab boxers and a t-shirt, then leans in the doorway to watch as Loki sets out to brush her hair –still naked, of course. She doesn't even bother wrapping a towel around herself or anything, and it's a damn nice view. 

“So this Amora chick– any idea what she's doing here?”

Loki frowns at her reflection in the mirror. “No. And I do not like it. She was banished to Alfheim centuries ago– the elves are immune to her spells for the most part, and perfectly capable of handling her more mundane ploys and seductions. Finding her on Midgard now, and engaging with the Avengers, however obliquely– no, I don't like it at all.”

Tony groans. “Elves? _Seriously_? Are they pretty and pointy-eared and shoot arrows, too?” 

“Yes,” Loki confirms dryly. “They are also arrogant, vicious, and clever– not quite the gentle, wise creatures some of your tales paint them as.” 

“Sounds like you'd get right along with them,” Tony observes. 

Loki smiles, a little pleased, a little, yes, vicious. “I do, actually.”

“So, are you, like, secretly an elf, then?” 

It's really just curiosity that makes Tony ask, because, you know, that whole adoption thing and all. But the moment the words leave his mouth, all humour is wiped from Loki's face as she freezes. She turns her head, gives him a flat look, voice equally flat as she says: “No.” But there's something jagged and painful under that lack of expression, and Tony's already raised his hands, presses himself back against the door frame. 

“Hey, it's cool, backing off now, this is me backing off, okay? No asking about the Loki adoption topic thing, got it.”

Loki takes that dangerous regard off of him, stares into the mirror for long moments, hands braced against the sink and brush forgotten on the side of it. Finally, a brief smile lifts the corner of her lips– brief, and humourless, and mocking. 

“An elf,” she mutters. “I should be so lucky.”

Tony hesitates for a moment, then walks over to her– slowly, makes sure his steps are well audible on the tile. He really doesn't want to startle Loki right now. He leans a hip against the side of the sink, crosses his arms. Maybe this is stupid, but… 

“Hey. You okay?”

She glances at him, and the tension flows out of her frame, she gives him a smile that's wry but realer than before– only it isn't, he realizes. What he sees, the sharp humour and edged playfulness, that's just another mask, and possibly that glimpse of bitterness he just caught was the realest he's ever seen Loki. 

“Better than I have been,” she answers him, flicks a hand– a green shimmer washes over her, and she's dressed. 

It's not male Loki's outfit, either. 

It's a loose, flowing gown (green, of course), reminds him a bit of a kimono, actually, the way the lapels are folded over each other– probably there's more than one layer to it, too. It's cinched at the waist with a broad, black leather belt with gold metal ornamentation that covers it from Loki's hips to under her breasts, and does very flattering things to her figure while it's at it. The only things that are the same are the broad gold band curving high over Loki's chest as a necklace, and possibly the toes of the black boots he can see peeking out from under the hem. 

Tony blinks, because that's a bit sudden, and while she looks fantastic, he instantly misses the sight of her naked. 

But Loki leans in, steps up to him so all those curves are pressed to his front, dips her head down to kiss him, a hand in the small of his back to turn him in towards her. She's not in a hurry about it either, makes it leisurely and thorough. 

“I thank you for your company,” she tells him, “but unless you insist otherwise, I will take my leave of you. There are matters that require my attention.”

Tony rests his hands on her hips, leather and cloth under his palm, as real as anything. He kind of doesn't want to see her go, definitely hopes he hasn't chased her off. “And if I insist?” 

“I have no wish to insult your hospitality,” Loki informs him, her breath brushing faintly across his face from how close they're still standing. “But I must investigate this matter of Amora's presence, and you no doubt require rest.”

Which is either an insult to his poor mortal constitution, or a tactful way of saying she doesn't want to be the trigger for another PTSD attack– or both. Yeah, definitely both. 

“Yeah, probably for the best,” he admits, reluctantly, and leans up to kiss her one more time. Loki obliges him happily, then takes a step back, smirks at him just because she can, probably, and vanishes. 

Tony huffs out a sigh, leans against the wall next to the sink. “JARV?”

“No sensor readings of Loki's presence detected, Sir.”

“Thanks. Please tell me you have the last few hours on tape.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“You're the best,” Tony informs him as he makes his way back to the bed. 

“Certainly, Sir,” JARVIS tells him dryly. “I shall remind you of that fact at an opportune moment.”

Tony chuckles, and flops himself down on his rumpled sheets. He could go back to the workshop, of course, but Loki's not wrong– he's beat, and could definitely do with some sleep. He figures he deserves it.

***

Loki steps back onto Midgard's soil in Central Park, near the location of the Avengers' earlier bout of heroism– easy to find, what with these people's obsession in recording everything and sharing it with the world. Night has fallen, but it isn't that late yet– hours to go until midnight, her rather lengthy engagement with Stark notwithstanding.

Would he be so eager to share his bed if he knew what truly lay under her skin…? Loki cuts the thought off sharply. There's no use dwelling on it, she's decided long ago, somewhere in the timeless void of space as she hurtled past galaxies and between dimensions– and there's no use dwelling on _that_ , either. 

She takes a deep breath, settles her shoulders, flexes her hands– _her_ hands, because she is a shapeshifter, and any form she wears is as true and as much her own as any other, whether she was born into it or not. 

She is Loki, and she knows who she is, and _what_ she is does not change the former. 

And she's in rather too good a mood, is rather too pleasantly languid, to let Stark's inopportune reminder spoil it. 

She checks the spell work that keeps unwanted attention away from her, finds the weave solid and flawless despite her earlier, thorough distraction. Pleased with herself and her handiwork, she smiles, and shifts into the form of a nondescript brunette, her clothes into those worn by the local Midgardians when they exercise. If she is to investigate the site of the earlier disturbance, it will be easier to do so without the currents of a glamour distorting the area. And the last thing she needs is for Amora to recognize the taste of her magic, should she still be in the area. She thins the weave that protects her from observers as much as she dares– tight enough to cloud the existence of her mind and essence, but her altered shape can take care of more mundane ways of tracking. 

Satisfied, she sets out at an easy run along the path that will just happen to take her by the site of the portal.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting, and hope you enjoyed this longer-than-usual chapter by way of apology!


	27. Chapter 27

Steve's head hurts. He's vaguely aware that he's been in and out of consciousness for a while now, but it's hard to focus through the grinding, pounding ache. It's hard to _think_. 

Something about that is terrifyingly familiar. If only he could… He remembers snow. Or does he? Snow, and trees, and a voice, a voice he thought he could trust. But he couldn't, it was all wrong. 

This is different. He thinks this is different. This is real. 

Or is it?

He thought it was real before, didn't he? 

God, he feels terrible. The headache's making him nauseous– he thinks it's the headache, anyway. His limbs are heavy– there's a blanket over him, and he knows it's just a bit of fabric, but it feels like lead. He wants to turn over, but he's not sure he has the strength. 

He's felt like this before– lots of times. God, it's been only a few years, but somehow he's forgotten what it's like, somehow he's already gotten used to being strong. 

This is like waking up from a fever, like back in those winters when he wasn't sure he'd live to see another spring. 

He pries his eyes open again– he doesn't remember closing them, but maybe he was asleep for a bit. The light in the room is different, stronger. It's a very white room, a hospital room. He was never in hospital back then, didn't have the money. Hospital is good, right? Only, it's so _white_ – he doesn't like the whiteness, like fog pressing in on him. 

He turns his head. There's a chair over to his right, and there's someone supposed to be in it, someone, someone… Sam, that's who it is. If Sam's there everything's alright. He's not sure why, but if Sam's there it's okay. 

The chair is empty. Sam isn't there. 

A prickling rush runs along his tongue, his spine, sends his heart pounding. He flails at the blanket pinning him down, somehow claws it off of himself. He tries to climb out of bed, but it's really more falling– only a death grip on the bed frame allows him to get his shaking legs under himself. 

He pushes off the bed and staggers over to the wall, fumbles the door open. The corridor outside is quiet, and there's elevator doors not too far from him. Shoulder against the wall, he makes his way to them.

***

Tony stifles a yawn, leans against the springy resistance of the back rest of his chair (excellent ergonomics, he's designed it after all) and then realises his coffee cup is on the table in front of him and he'd have to sit back up to reach it. He ponders whether it's worth the trouble.

After his very enjoyable time with Loki, he slept like a stone– for a few hours. Then he woke up, brimming with energy and head whirling with ideas and half-formed equations, and spent the rest of the night in the lab, working on the alien USB key. By the time he went back to bed, the sun was well up. 

So this little team meeting they're having? Yaaawn. Especially since so far it's been: Hydra– nothing, mutant twins– nothing, Sceptre– nothing. 

He glances around the table while Nat efficiently updates them on their lack of progress on all their fronts. Bruce looks worried, Thor grave, Clint bored and Nat vaguely annoyed– so everyone's the same as usual, pretty much. Only Wilson's watching Nat attentively. It's kinda cute. Despite a bruise fading on his jaw and the white bandage around a sprained wrist from his stay in the Hydra cells, it's like the shine hasn't worn off of him yet. 

The discussion's moving on to yesterday's magic portal incident, not that there's much on that front, either– sure, JARVIS was recording, but a) the suit has a limited amount of sensor arrays, for obvious reasons, and b) it's fucking _magic_. He's a genius, yes, but even he needs a little time to figure out how to interpret the data he gets, never mind that there might be a whole bunch of things he hasn't built sensors for yet because he doesn't even know what he's looking for. God, he hates magic. 

Speaking of which, he's just about wondering how to mention yesterday's apparently not hallucinatory incident, without going into the fact why he's now convinced it wasn't hallucinatory, and why he thinks the lady in the tree had anything to do with the portal, when a voice says:

“It was Amora.” 

Tony's not the only one who jumps when Loki suddenly shimmers into existence. He's male again, crosses to his usual place at the table next to Thor and sprawls into his chair– and when did Loki get himself a 'usual' place at the Avengers' conference table? 

“What the f…?!” Clint exclaims, clutches a hand to his chest. “Fuck, do you _have_ to do that?! How do you even know what we're talking about? How long have you been there? How long has he been there?!” he demands of Tony. 

Tony checks with JARVIS on his phone, his own heart still beating hard. “Just for a few seconds. You.” He points at Loki. “We gotta get you a bell or something.” 

Loki gives him amused eyebrows and a mocking curl of lips. 

Tony really wants to kiss him. 

Bu-ut this is hardly the time or place, so he opens his mouth to get back on topic, but Clint beats him to it. 

“And who or what the fuck is 'Amora'?” 

Loki turns towards Clint, folds his hands on the supple leather over his stomach comfortably. “Who. She is an Asgardian sorceress in exile. I believe you've met her sister– Lorelei. I sent the Lady Sif to take her off your hands several months ago.” 

Tony and Clint groan, while Nat looks very unhappy. 

“Lorelei caused a lot of damage,” she says. “Can we expect the same from Amora?” 

Loki looks at Thor. “If Amora is here, we must assume she is here for you.”

Thor frowns. “It need not be so. It has been centuries– she might have recovered.”

Loki gives him one of those unimpressed looks. “A rather dangerous assumption to trust anyone's safety on. And unlikely, given she went out of her way to draw your attention. Opening a portal to Asgard is not something one does on a whim.”

“Recovered?” Tony asks, just as Clint demands: “How do you even know about that?”

“Twitter,” Loki retorts airily. “Or was it instagram? I forget.” 

While Tony's just as glad the answer wasn't “Stark told me last night after we had loads of sex”, hearing Loki comfortably refer to social media is a bit surreal. 

“You're shitting me,” Clint says. 

“I do own a phone,” Loki points out, all reasonable and condescending. “Come to that, I own a laptop.”

“Next you'll tell me you have a facebook page,” Tony quips. He's not reassured by the enigmatic look Loki gives him– he probably does.

“What did you mean, she's here for Thor?” Nat cuts in. 

Loki exchanges a look with Thor. 

“Amora is obsessed with him. She was banished from Asgard because she attempted to enslave him with a love spell when he wouldn't renew their association centuries ago.”

“Uh.” Tony blinks at Thor. “She's your ex?”

Thor sighs, runs a hand over his beard. “We were lovers for a time, yes. I never meant...” He breaks off, darts a troubled look at Loki. 

Loki shrugs. “I doubt it was anything you did, Brother. The flaw is in her.”

“She might have recovered,” Thor repeats, hopeful. 

Loki, of course, looks eminently sceptical. “Are you willing to risk the life of your Lady Jane on it? Because if she has not, and she learns you've taken a mortal lover, she will kill her.” 

Thor goes a little green around the edges. 

“So, what are we gonna do about this Amora chick?” Tony asks. 

Loki leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “I could make a suggestion,” he says idly, “but it's not like anyone ever listens to me.” The look he gives Thor makes it clear who 'anyone' is. 

Tony rolls his eyes. “Yes, you're such a poor, misunderstood super-villain, Dasher. What'd you suggest, then?”

Loki doesn't favour him with more than a mocking look and turns back to Thor instead. “Return to Asgard.”

“What?!”

Yeah, Tony's not quite sure he heard that right, either.

“She can't reach you there, whatever her plan is, and with you removed from the picture she'll probably lose interest in the rest of you.” He waves a lazy hand at the rest of the people at the table. 

“But what of Jane? You would have me leave her behind when you yourself believe Amora would harm her?”

Loki just rolls his eyes in the face of Thor's glare. “Take her with you, if you must. I doubt Mother would object, and the Allfather is asleep.” He leans forward, plants his armoured forearms on the table, fingers laced, sweeps them all with a piercing look. “I'm very close to locating another one of the Stones, and we cannot afford to let ourselves be distracted by Amora and whatever petty scheme she has in mind. The Mad Titan will not sit still and wait on our convenience while we chase after every threat and tangent coming our way.”

Tony glares at him a little. “So sorry to bother you with our inconvenient kidnappings while we're looking for your special glow stick.”

“I will not abandon my friends to go into battle without me at the mere possibility that the Enchantress poses a threat,” Thor says at the same time. 

Loki huffs, rakes his hands back through his hair, pushes to his feet. He smacks his palms down on the table, glares at them all. “We don't have _time_ for this! With every day that passes, he builds up his armies, he scours the galaxy for the Stones. Do you not understand that if he gains the Stones there will be no force in the universe capable of stopping him?!”

Tony rises as well, arms crossed. “No one's suggesting we lean back and go on holiday, here. But ignoring a potential enemy is just stupid. Especially if she's powerful and crazy and gunning for Thor. Sure, _maybe_ she'll leave us alone if he goes back to Asgard– but maybe she's not a complete idiot and figures, hey, maybe he'll come back from his magical castle in the sky if I start picking off his friends. And if we're throwing down with Asgardians, might be handy to have one of them on hand on our side– since I assume you aren't gonna throw yourself into the front line and risk compromising your handy little 'I'm dead' ruse.”

Loki presses his lips into a pale line, and Tony takes that to mean he's right. 

“Oh, and also, what exactly are we supposed to do while we're ignoring Amora and you're gallivanting 'round the galaxy looking for shiny rocks? Twiddle our thumbs?”

“Don't you have a data storage device to decrypt and a spaceship to build?” Loki asks acidly. 

“What do you think I've been doing when you're not here bitching at us?” Tony snaps back. “But it's not something that's gonna happen from one day to the next! I'm dealing with completely new technology here, it's not like it's plug and play!”

“Surely you must have made some progress by now– it's not like it is, how goes your saying, rocket science.”

“Uh, yeah, adapting alien technology to our own? It kinda is. Actually, it's way _beyond_ rocket science. There's maybe four people on the planet with a chance in hell of pulling this off.”

“Well, you do maintain you're a genius, I'm sure you'll cope.”

“Of course I will,” Tony scoffs. “But you're the one who's in a hurry. So, you want results faster, maybe get your royal ass down to the workshop some time and give me a hand. Otherwise, shut up and quit your whining.”

***

Steve staggers out of the elevator, clutching at the wall. He kind of knows where he is– Avengers' Tower. That's why when he got into the elevator, there was JARVIS to ask him where he wished to go, and if he was sure he did, and recommended that he go back to bed instead. But he'd still dutifully brought Steve up when he insisted he had to see the others. And he has to– he _has_ to. His head is aching and swimming, and he's panting and covered in cold sweat from even this little bit of movement, but he has to see the others, has to see different rooms and colours and movement– has to know it's real, because he doesn't know if he feels real.

There's sun shining brightly through the wall of windows, gleaming on the dark wood of the conference table and in Nat's red hair where she's standing next to a holo-screen that hovers over the table. She's frowning across the table's expanse at where Tony's standing at the head of it, arms crossed and glaring at… Loki. Yes, that's Loki, incongruous and out of place here at the Avenger's base of operation. He's facing Tony over the corner of the table, his own arms crossed as well and narrow eyes locked on Tony's.

There's something off, besides the fact that Nat looks merely annoyed and Clint's sprawled back in his own chair, and Bruce isn't even paying attention but flicking through something on a tablet instead, and Thor's still seated, too, chair only turned a little towards the argument. Only Sam, down at the table past Nat, looks at least a little concerned. But there's something off besides the fact that Tony's arguing with an angry-looking Loki and most of the team doesn't seem the least bit worried. 

They're standing too close. There's barely a foot of space between their faces, the way they're aggressively leaning towards each other, and that seems mostly because there's still the corner of the table between them. Steve's not in any shape to reason it out, but their body language is all wrong– too close, too pointed towards each other, not enough tension to go with the aggression. 

Tony says something else, all in Loki's face, makes a sharp, final gesture with one hand, and Loki throws his hands up, snarls: “Fine!”

Tony's teeth flash in a grin, triumphant, and he smacks the back of his hand against Loki's chest, quick and casual, says something that's no doubt smug and aggravating. 

Loki scowls, tilts his head in a way that reminds Steve of a bird of prey eyeing up its next snack… then rolls his eyes, turns away to reach for the back of the chair behind him, catches sight of Steve. 

His eyebrows rise. “Captain,” he says, and every eye swings towards him, then on to Steve. 

“Cap!” Tony exclaims, and Nat's “Steve!” sounds downright alarmed, and she's already on her way over before Bruce has finished turning around. 

Steve wavers on his feet, and then Nat's there, puts a shoulder under his arm and slings her own arm around his waist. The grip of her fingers around his wrist is warm and strong. 

“Here, get him on the couch,” Tony's saying, and: “JARVIS, get me whoever's on call in medical up here, and tell them I wanna know why their patient just wandered off. For that matter, why the hell didn't you say something?!”

Nat lowers him onto the soft, white cushions while JARVIS answers, unperturbed: “As you had do-not-disturb mode activated, Sir, I sent a text to your phone.” 

Tony swears even as he sweeps a blanket off the end of the couch and hands it to Bruce. “Next time someone on my team looks like he's about to fall over and brain himself on the floor, fucking disturb me, J.”

“Very well, Sir.”

Nat shifts to crouch by his head and Bruce shakes out the blanket and spreads it over Steve, tucks it in around him with gentle hands. 

“Hey, soldier,” Nat says, smiles a little. Steve blinks at her. She looks up to share a look with Bruce, then rises back to her feet with cat-like grace, moves out of the way so Bruce can take her place. 

“Hey, Steve,” Bruce says, gives him a smile, too. “Can you hear me?”

Steve frowns a little, because of course he can, so he nods. 

Tony leans over the back of the couch. “Is he alright? He doesn't look alright.” He reaches out, lays a warm, rough palm against Steve's forehead. “Is this what you do? Does that work? He feels kinda cool, is that normal?”

Bruce rolls his eyes a little, pulls Tony's hand away by the wrist. “He's not a child with the flu, Tony.” 

Steve kind of misses the touch– it was grounding. _Real_. 

Tony just huffs. “Fine. Whatever! Where's that doctor?”

Sam leans down over Bruce's shoulder, rests a hand briefly on Steve's arm. “Hey, man. Take it easy, yeah?”

Sam's there, and Steve feels some of the driving anxiety in his chest ease. Sam's okay. He can't quite remember why, but if Sam's around that means things are okay. 

As his pulse slows, tiredness starts weighing heavy on his limbs, on his eyelids. He turns his head a little, and yes, Loki's still there. He's standing by the windows, shoulders casually leaning against the glass, and watches while all the Avengers fuss over Steve and apparently forget all about him. Even Nat and Clint have their back to him.

Sleep pulls at him, the bone-deep exhaustion he knows all too well, when his will is like nothing against the demands of his body. The last thing he sees before he succumbs to the soft darkness is Loki's gaze meeting his own across the room, neutral and steady. He's not sure if that makes him wary or feeling oddly safe.

***

Steve's fast asleep by the time the doctor hastens across the room from the elevator. Tony doesn't like the look of him– he's too pale, except for spots of bright, feverish colour on his cheeks, and there's a sickly sweat on his face. But the doctor just shrugs after she's taken his pulse and decides they'd best just let him sleep. He's recovering, she says, his enhanced body repairing damage that would've left everyone else brain-dead or severely impaired long ago. He just needs rest now, and if he feels the need to do it here, enough to drag himself up here– well, Tony agrees that it's probably best to let him have his way. Then he has a few stern things to say about his highly-qualified and extremely well-paid medical staff letting their patients run away without noticing and sends her off again.

He glances down once more at Steve's face, drawn and exhausted even in sleep. He looks strangely young, strangely vulnerable like this, not at all like the bastion of good sense and old-fashioned manners Tony's used to– annoying, certainly, but reassuring, too. Steve being down like this makes Tony realize how much he's come to rely on him, how much he's counting on Steve to be there to rein him in even (or especially) if he doesn't want to listen.

Tony resists the urge to rest a hand on Steve's head, instead claps them together– softly. 

“Alright, kids, lets finish this little get-together.”

They wrap the meeting up quick enough– now that Loki's stopped being pissy and has agreed to give Tony a hand with the alien tech. And Thor actually, grudgingly, agrees to stay in the Tower until they know what Amora's game is, since Loki's reasonably sure that Tony's countermeasures against him are gonna work just as well on Amora. The smug little quirk at the corners of his lips as he says it leads Tony to believe that Loki's figured out at least part of them by now, and how to circumvent them, but Tony's willing to let it go– for now. 

“Brother,” Thor rumbles when they're done, “will you join me for a drink before you leave?”

Loki's eyebrows arch, but then he inclines his head. “Why not? I believe I have that much time to spare.”

Tony can't help but give him a bit of a look– Loki's had plenty of time to get thoroughly laid the last two days, so yeah, he probably can afford to have a drink with his brother. Loki narrows his eyes at him a little, then turns pointedly towards Thor, rises and sweeps his arm towards the bar. “Shall we?”

Thor smiles, all bright happiness, nods at everyone at the table and proceeds Loki across the room. Bruce and Sam get up as well and go check on Steve, before Bruce steps into the elevator while Sam takes a seat on the couch kitty-corner to the one Steve's sleeping on and murmurs something to JARVIS. A moment later, the screen over the fireplace flickers to life and the door to the cupboard with the game controllers slides open. 

Tony leans back in his chair, stretches a little, suppresses a yawn and reaches for his coffee cup. He takes a sip, grimaces because it's gone cold, and contemplates getting up and heading over to the kitchen for a fresh cup. 

“Tony,” Nat says, and there's a wealth of meaning in the word. She gives him a very expressive look to go with it, eyebrows high, and, whoops, it looks like he's busted. He meets her eyes, shrugs a little. 

Clint looks between the two of them. “What? Guys, what?”

Nat turns her look on him, tilts her head slightly at Loki's empty chair, then at Tony. Clint's eyes widen as he stares at Tony. 

“Seriously? I mean… _Seriously_?”

Tony shrugs again. 

“But… it's Loki!”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “He's hot.”

Clint drops his forehead to the table. “One day. One day this thing you have for danger is gonna kill you.”

It's Tony's turn to do the raised-eyebrows thing, because, really? He doesn't look at Nat, but… really? Clint raises his head, catches the look, and grins a little, sheepish. “Since when are you into dudes, anyway?”

Tony pretends to consider. “Mid-80s, I think. College. I had a very hot TA.” He waggles his eyebrows. 

Clint groans. “Weren't you, like, a child in college?”

“Hey, I was sixteen. He wasn't complaining when I screwed him over the teacher's desk.” 

“This is more than I ever needed to know about your sex life, Stark.”

Tony smirks. “You asked.”

“Yeah, thanks for over-sharing!”

“Boys,” Nat chides, turns her attention back to Tony. “Well, you're still alive and unharmed, so I'm going to assume you know what you're doing– as much as you ever do.”

“Thanks,” Tony tells her dryly. 

“You're welcome.” The smile she gives him is needle-sharp. 

“Just so you know,” Clint adds, “if this blows up in your face, I'm gonna laugh at you– so hard.”

“You're a true friend, Barton. See if I build you those EMP arrows I was planning on now.”

“Aw, c'mon, Tony, take a joke! You're doing a super-villain, you can't expect me not to rib you over it!”

“'Course not– if you don't need those arrows.” Tony smirks, Clint pouts and Nat rolls her eyes, gets up and takes Tony's coffee cup away from him. “Hey!”

She gives him her own narrow smirk, scoops up Clint's and her own as well and sashays off to the kitchen. When she comes back and sets a full, steaming cup of coffee down in front of him, he eyes first it distrustfully, then her. “Should I be worried about poison? Truth serum? Random embarrassing drugs?”

Nat slides back into her chair, swivels it sideways, slings her legs over Clint's lap. “It's coffee, Stark. You look like you need it.”

“I wonder why,” Clint says, and Tony settles down to drink his coffee and trade barbs with his two favourite assassins.

***


	28. Chapter 28

Loki follows Thor towards the bar, where Thor reaches into the fridge and pulls out two of the distinctive brown bottles Midgardians use for their beer with all signs of familiarity. 

It's odd, a little, seeing Thor interacting so comfortably with something that isn't of Asgard– Loki's always been the one quick to adapt to a new environment, the one to throw himself into a new culture. Then again, there's alcohol involved– Thor's certainly never had any qualms about getting acquainted with the offerings of that in the different realms. 

Loki accepts one of the bottles with a nod of thanks and settles himself on one of the high stools, raises the bottle in a toast and takes a sip. 

Thor returns the salute with his own bottle, drinks a lot deeper. 

“Brother. How are you? You look...”

Loki raises an eyebrow. “Sane?” he offers dryly. 

Thor smiles a little, embarrassed. “I was going to say 'well'.”

“Ah. I'm certain you were.”

Thor gives him a look, makes a motion with his beer bottle as if to flick away Loki's sarcasm. “I am glad, in any case, to have been seeing more of you. Have we thanked you for your assistance, these last weeks?”

Loki tilts his head, considers. “I don't believe anyone has, come to that.”

Thor smiles at him, one of those terribly warm, sincere ones. “Thank you, then. Your help in rescuing my comrades is much appreciated. I'm sorry I haven't said so sooner.” 

Loki shrugs under the full weight of Thor's grave, honest regard, waves a hand. “It isn't like I'm not used to it,” he quips, keeps his voice airy and unconcerned. For once, however, Thor's not content to accept the comfort of an easy way out Loki offers him. He shakes his head, regards Loki seriously. 

“You speak the truth, and it shames me, Brother. I've been a poor friend to you for far too long.” He adds, quietly: “I've missed you.”

Loki holds himself quite still for a moment, then sighs, slouches back as much as the low back of the stool will allow. He contemplates the beer bottle, rolls it between his palms for a moment, then takes another drink. He meets Thor's eyes again with a side-ways look. 

“Ah. Well. I suppose I've not made it terribly easy on you, either.”

At that, Thor laughs a little, takes a draw from his own bottle. “Well,” he echoes. “While true, you are who you are– and 'easy' has never been a word to describe you.”

Loki hums. “I am indeed who I am.” He glances side-ways again. “ _What_ I am.”

Thor narrows his eyes a little, his jaw takes on a very familiar, very stubborn set. “You are my brother.”

The words warm Loki more than he has any desire to acknowledge. Rolling his eyes is far more appropriate, he feels. “Thor...”

“No,” Thor interrupts, and yes, Loki knows that expression– a mule has nothing on Thor with that look on his face. “Wherever you were born, whatever the circumstances of your birth, you have been my brother for two thousand years– blood does not matter more than that.”

“Even such blood as mine?”

“You are hardly the first Jotnar to frequent the Asgardian court,” Thor points out dryly. “Nor, I should hope, are you the last.” He waves his free hand. “The realms war. The realms find peace again. Vanaheim, Alfheim, Jotunheim– what is the difference? We have fought, we have fucked– sometimes in short order.” He smirks a little, and Loki finds himself answering his look, his expression– yes, he remembers that last campaign on Alfheim, remembers the wild exhilaration of it, an orgy of violence and blood lust– remembers the literal orgy that ended it. 

He chuckles a little. “We were very young.”

“Quite,” Thor agrees. 

They are silent for a few moments as they drink their beer. Then Thor says, very gently: “You have never resented Angrboda for what she was, have you?”

“No! No.” He shakes his head. 

“So why should it matter for you? Your mother was Aesir in any case– you are only half-Jotnar, not that _that_ matters, either.”

It's… a very good question. Loki's not sure he has an answer.

“I suppose it does explain Fenrir and Jor,” Thor observes. 

Loki sighs. “It might, at that. I take it Mother told you the story of my parentage?”

Thor nods. “After… after your fall from the Bifrost.”

Loki takes another sip– his beer is almost empty. “I suppose it also explains why the All-Father was so against the union.”

Thor contemplates the bottle between his own big hands, picks at the label with a thumb. “Will you ever forgive him?”

The flash of rage Loki feels tastes metallic and bitter and old. His hand tightens on his bottle, threatens to crack the fragile glass. 

“He did not keep it a secret to hurt you.” Thor's voice is still quiet, gentle. 

Loki rasps out a laugh, shows his teeth. “No. He did it to use me.” He cocks his head, regards Thor. “Will you ever hold him accountable for his actions?”

Thor's eyes are pleading. “I do not believe he acts out of anything but the best intentions.”

“He is a proud and arrogant old fool. Surely you can see that! The reports of his wisdom are somewhat exaggerated.”

“He was not wrong to send me here,” Thor points out. 

“And if he had listened to me in the first place, he wouldn't have had to. Will you continue to follow him blindly? Will you never stand up to him?”

“I believe I have done so, when I thought it necessary,” Thor points out. “Although, obviously, I was not always right to do it. And he is my father, but he is also my _king_.”

Loki takes a deep breath, forces the anger away, sighs. “I see your point, Brother.” He smiles, a half-smile with more self-deprecation than he usually shows. “I was, perhaps, not made to follow orders.”

Thor gives a startled bark of laughter. “That, dear Brother, should not come as a surprise to you after all these centuries.”

Loki hums thoughtfully. “It appears to come as a continual surprise to the All-Father.”

“Dismay, I should say, rather than surprise,” Thor observes. 

“Perhaps.”

“You are not a creature of order, Loki,” Thor says gently. “It is no judgement of your worth when I say you are not fit to be king, merely a judgement on your nature.”

Loki arches an eyebrow. “I have ruled Asgard as king these past months, Brother.”

Thor takes another sip of his beer. “And what say you about the experience?”

And at that, Loki chuckles. “A throne suits me ill,” he echoes the words of Thor that have once so enraged him. 

Thor joins him in laughter, and his blue eyes are warm and proud as he looks at Loki. “You have done a good job of it, nonetheless,” he acknowledges. “Asgard stands ready for war, and the Nine Realms remain ignorant of our moment of weakness.”

“It is not that I am at all incapable to rule,” Loki says. “And, in truth, I do not believe many doubt my potential. What they doubt, rightfully, is my inclination. They believe I would be fickle and selfish, more interested in my own entertainment than the welfare of the people.” 

It is Thor's turn to raise an eyebrow, and Loki chuckles. “Ah yes. They are not at all wrong. I did not enjoy this realization, and yet, I am dismayed that it was not obvious to me far sooner.”

Thor hums. “Is it not often so? That which is obvious to those around us remains the best kept secret to ourselves. And as for that, while I am still exasperated by your methods, I do thank you for foiling my coronation. I was not ready.”

“It has been a long time since a prank of mine went so awry,” Loki muses. “Mayhap there would have been less damage if I had let you proceed, and learn along the way as you needed.”

“We shall never know. But for all the death and suffering that have spread from it like ripples in a pond, I can not help but also see the good. Would we have become aware of the threat the Mad Titan poses in time if not for your involvement, Brother? Would he have found a tool more easily bent to his will, to bring him the Tesseract? For truly, I believe there are few beings in the galaxy that could have bucked his rein so skilfully, so successfully, as you did.”

Loki grins. “Ah, Brother. I thank you for the flattery.”

Thor raises his eyebrows. “Why, Brother, I just called you a sneaky, cunning, honour-less coward.”

At that, Loki bursts out laughing. Oh, but it is good to banter with Thor again. “A _successful_ sneaky, honour-less coward,” he points out. 

“I did that,” Thor acknowledges, gives him a side-ways look, lips curling. “Cow.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “Chicken.”

***

Tony keeps half an eye on Thor and Loki over at the bar, but there's no explosions or anything– they really only do have a drink and a talk like civilised people.

And he doesn't appreciate the knowing looks and smirks he gets from the assassin duo when they see where his eyes are going. That doesn't stop him from strolling over after Nat drags Clint away (to get laid, he assumes from the smirk) and Thor claps Loki on the shoulder and heads over to join Sam on the couches by the TV. Loki's slid off of his barstool by the time Tony arrives and is contemplating one of Tony's favourite bottles. 

“Hands off the Scotch,” Tony reminds him. 

Loki glances over his shoulder, then turns to face him, pouts a little. “You're usually more generous than this, I believe.”

Tony shrugs. “What can I say? You're an exception.”

“Why, Stark, you do know how to make a man feel special.” It's sarcastic and mocking, of course. It's also flirtatious to at least the same degree, with the dark-eyed look Loki gives him. 

The banter's almost comfortable– except that Tony's still aware, thank you very much, that Loki could kill him before he can so much as blink, right now. He doesn't need Nat or Clint to tell him that. Not that he thinks Loki _will_ – but he could. And would, if given a reason. And given all that… 

“Okay, I can't believe I'm saying this, but this thing we're doing...” Tony waves a vague hand between them. Loki raises his eyebrows and gives him an amused little smirk.

“Yeah, the one where you show up and are unfairly sexy at me and then we end up in my bed. That thing.”

“What about it?” Loki lounges back against the bar top, and, yep– unfairly sexy. He knows it too, the bastard, the way he flaunts his long legs oh so casually and flexes his shoulders. 

Tony narrows his eyes for a moment, just to let him know he knows exactly what Loki's doing. Of course all it gets him is that smirk curling up a little higher. 

“Just… what exactly is 'it'?” Tony makes air quotes around the word. 

This time, the arch of Loki's eyebrows is more surprise than amusement. “Are you asking me whether it 'means' anything?” There's a good bit of scorn in his voice. “You didn't strike me as a man inclined to romantic delusions. Please don't tell me I was mistaken.”

Tony looks at Loki in something like horror. “Romantic…? Fuck, no! I just… I just want to know if there's any rules I should know about? I mean, I dunno how you do these things in Asgard, you're not gonna go crazy-insane possessive on me or anything, like this Amora chick, right? 'Cause you kinda seem like the type...”

Loki blinks, then snorts a laugh, crosses his arms and legs comfortably, butt still leaning against the counter. “Very well, just so that there are no misunderstandings between us: I am in your bed because you're attractive and an entertaining lover. As we're currently allies, I see no reason not to indulge in this affair. If our alliance ends, we may go our separate ways with no debts owed, as far as I'm concerned.”

“Okay,” Tony says. “So, I don't have to worry about you going crazy and homicidal on anyone if Pepper comes back next week and I sleep with her, right?”

Loki looks at him like _he's_ the crazy one. “Who you invite into your bed is entirely your business.”

“Okay. Good.” Tony nods. “Just checking, you know, wouldn't want any cultural misunderstandings here. So, we have fun, no strings, no hard feelings once it's over?”

Loki dips his chin in a regal nod of his own. “Yes.” Then his lips spread, white teeth showing in his grin. He drops his hands to the counter, pushes off languidly. “Of course, while our association lasts, I do so hope to inspire some 'hard feelings'.”

Tony kind of groans, because maybe that line shouldn't work, but Loki's doing that silky purr with his voice, and the grin and the spark in his eyes is so wicked, and, yep– hard feelings. Coming up. (No, pun not intended.)

Loki chuckles, steps up to him, and dips his head to kiss him. His hand goes to the back of Tony's head, and his lips are warm. 

“Mmm,” Tony makes into the kiss, shifts his weight forward, pushes into it. He's vaguely aware that Thor and Sam are on the other side of the room, just behind the short wall that separates the entertainment section from the rest of the floor, and if they got up or even just leaned back far enough on a couch, could probably see this– but, seriously, who cares? Not him, not with Loki's mouth on his. 

“You're terrible,” he informs Loki when they part after long moments, his lips tingling and Loki's taste on his tongue. His breath is already faster than it has any right to be.

“I'm magnificent,” Loki corrects him, nips at the corner of his mouth. 

“Arrogant asshole,” Tony accuses, tilts his head a little to accommodate Loki's lips against his jaw. His hands are against Loki's chest while the hand Loki hasn't buried in his hair runs down his back in a broad, warm stroke. Loki chuckles against his ear before he licks at the lobe. 

“I believe there's a saying about pots and kettles that applies here.” 

Tony would come up with a snappy retort, but Loki's hand has reached his ass and is shamelessly groping him, and it seems far more important to rock his hard cock into Loki's thigh. 

“No,” he growls, “I think the saying you're looking for is: your place or my place?” Oh, look at that, snappy retort after all. 

Loki's arms tighten, pull him in close, and then there's the increasingly familiar whirl, at the end of which Loki pushes him away, none too gently, and Tony falls backwards to sprawl on a bed. 

He blinks, because that's not his bedroom, but it's still familiar. “Heh.” He grins. “Or your place _and_ my place.” It's the guest room he gave Loki before. 

Loki crawls onto the bed after him, on top of him, his own grin feral. “Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?”

“Maybe once or twice.” He reaches for the buckles at Loki's sides, but Loki gives an impatient little shake of his shoulders and his clothes vanish in a faint shimmer of green. “Hey!”

Any further protests of his are stifled by Loki putting his mouth back on his, and Tony's so distracted by the hungry push of Loki's lips, the deep stroke of his tongue, that he's not quite sure at what point Loki's hands start running over his own bare sides, but sure enough, when Loki finally pulls his mouth away Tony's as naked as he is. Which, you know, magic undressing, kinda weird, but now's really not the time to think about it, not with their bare legs tangling and Loki's cock, hot and heavy and hard, sliding against the groove of Tony's hip. 

Tony moans, and then does it again when Loki reaches down, between them, to wrap a hand around Tony's cock. He shifts until he's more on his side, bracing most of his weight on his other elbow, his fingers tangled casually in Tony's hair, scratching against his scalp. 

His palm is ridiculously silky smooth as it drags over the head of Tony's cock, then back down, and Tony shivers at the delicious stimulation. Loki's fingers curl around him on the way back down, form a warm channel of gentle pressure, and Tony's hips hitch up into it, against the weight of Loki's legs and stomach.

He's not going to just lie there and take it, though (even though that doesn't sound like a half-bad idea, really), so he reaches down himself and returns the favour. 

Loki makes a rumbling, purring sound of a moan, and curls in a little, brings his hips and cock up higher, into easier reach. He's all hot, smooth velvet in Tony's hand, delicate skin catching against Tony's calluses– and from the hitch in Loki's breath, he doesn't mind that at all.

This, Tony realizes, isn't going to last long. Their hands bump into each other, the skin of their legs is warm and damp where they're lying against each other, shifting and flexing in reaction to a particularly good stroke, searching for the perfect angle. And there's slickness growing to ease the way from leaking tips. 

All the while, as they test for the right rhythm, the right pressure, Loki's staring down at him, lips curled in a smirk that's kind of ruined by the way they're parted, pink and sensual, and his pupils are huge and dark. Wet sounds of skin on skin fill the room, and the sub-vocal groans and grunts under their panting breath. 

Loki circles his thumb over the head of Tony's cock on an upstroke in a wicked, wicked way, and Tony throws his head back with a guttural sound, loses the eye contact as his own eyes flutter close, as his own rhythm on Loki falters for a moment. But he does feel Loki's cock twitch against his fingers, and then Loki buries his face against the side of Tony's neck with a huff of breath, sets his lips against the delicate skin under the corner of Tony's jaw. Tony shivers at the warm flick of his tongue, but unscrambles enough of his brain to start moving his hand on Loki's cock again. Loki moans, starts flexing his hips into Tony's grip and his groin while he mouths along Tony's throat. It's hot and messy and uncoordinated, Loki's breath and teeth and tongue on his neck, their hands and legs and cocks, bumping and pushing. Tony reaches up and fists his free hand in Loki's hair, keeps him where he is, arches and squirms. Through the flush of sex and sweat, he can feel the heat of Extremis under his skin where it heals the bruises Loki's sucking into his throat. Loki's hair curls silky-rough around his fingers, tickles at the side of his face. He's close, and no, this didn't take long– but who cares, with the way Loki's jerking him off, competent and determined? Not Tony, that's for sure. Not even after the amount of sex he's had in the last forty-eight hours.

But in the end, it's Loki who comes first. He gives a heartfelt groan, pushes his face into the side of Tony's neck and his hips into Tony's hand, and Tony can feel the pulse of it against his fingers, feels the splash of hot wetness against his hip while he strokes Loki through it. Then he hitches own hips upwards, because of course Loki's stopped bringing him off while he came, and his fingers rest lax against Tony's hard cock. 

Loki takes the hint, starts stroking again while he pushes himself up on his elbow a bit, enough that he can reach Tony's mouth and kiss him. He's languid against Tony's urgency, tongue and hand teasing. Tony growls into the kiss, nips at Loki's lips. Loki huffs a quiet laugh, shifts his weight a little more to the side so he has a better angle on Tony's cock, and gets to work. Tony moans in bliss, and stops thinking about anything but the rhythmic slide and pressure around his cock. Loki kisses his jaw, the corner of his mouth, his cheek. 

“Come, Tony,” he coaxes. And maybe it's the words, or just the silky rumble of Loki's voice, but, yep, that does it– Tony freezes, and shivers, it feels like from head to toe, fingertips tingling as orgasm washes through him.

***

Tony slumps back on the bed, stretches, chuckles. “I can't remember the last time I did that.”

Loki's still propped up on his elbow by his side, reaches out to trail the fingers of his free hand over Tony's chest. “No?”

“Jerking each other off? It's so...” Tony waves a vague hand, “...juvenile,” he finally settles on. “Y'know, stuff kids do when they're working their way up to real sex.”

Loki looks a little puzzled, his finger tracing along one of the larger scars radiating out from the arc reactor. “There are many ways for people to pleasure each other. Why would any of them be inferior to others?”

“Well, I didn't say 'inferior',” Tony says. 

“'Juvenile' rather implies it,” Loki retorts. He flicks his fingers dismissively before setting them back down, on the reactor. “But you mortals have always had some rather strange opinions on the matter of physical pleasure.”

“Oh yeah?”

Loki nods, absently. His hair's still a little wild, the sharp lines of his face softened by post-coital relaxation. “There have always been so many taboos and conventions associated with it– who with whom, under what circumstances… though I do not think the last few centuries have done you any favours there.” He shakes his head. “You are a strange people.”

Tony snorts. “Says the space Viking. The magic-wielding space Viking.”

Loki opens his mouth to retort, and– there's a knock on the door. Loki says “Come in” before Tony has a chance to so much as scramble for a sheet to cover up, and god, the door opens and then there's Thor, and his eyes definitely have time to take in the entire display in all its gruesome detail before Tony yanks a handful of bed covers over his lap. He would've pulled it up higher, but Loki's lying on the rest of it. 

And, sure, Tony's been in plenty of compromising positions before. People've walked in on him before. His naked ass has been splashed all over the tabloids. And there's those Youtube videos. But somehow, all that doesn't quite measure up to the heroic, upstanding demi-god Tony has to work with in his own capacity as a super-hero walking in on him in bed with his shady, morally-dubious brother. 

Tony makes a pained sound, hunches around his precious few square inches of sheet. 

“Loki!” he protests. “What the hell?”

Loki gives a disparaging snort, Tony catches the wave of a hand out of the corner of his eyes, and then he's dressed. He slumps down on his back with a relieved sigh, looks up at Loki– who's still naked. 

Lying on his side, propped up on one arm, chin resting in his palm, one leg bent at the knee, he's cool as a cucumber with every inch of pale skin on display. He looks the god-part, lean and muscular, like he's just waiting for a roaming renaissance painter to drop by and commit his cold, dark beauty to canvas. 

His eyes are fixed on Thor with mild interest and he raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Captain Rogers has awakened again. I believe you may wish to speak to him?” That last is directed at Tony.

Loki nods. “We will be there momentarily.”

And Thor answers the nod, his eyes including Tony, and leaves. Not fast, not slow, he just turns around and closes the door.

“Oh God!” Tony groans, brings his hands up to press them over his eyes. “I can't believe that just happened! What the hell is _wrong_ with you?”

“I assure you, Thor has seen a naked man before,” Loki tells him, mocking condescension thick in his voice. 

“In bed with his _brother_?!” 

And Loki, the bastard, smirks down at him when Tony looks at him. “That, too,” he confirms dryly. 

“Ugh! Whatever! I don't want to know!” Tony looks down at his fully-dressed body. “Is this even real?” 

Loki gestures again, and the illusion melts away, to leave Tony as naked as he was before. Tony stares down his body, come-stains and all, for another moment, then sits up, swings his feet to the floor. There's no sign of his clothes, or Loki's, anywhere in the room. “Please tell me you didn't magically disintegrate my clothes. I happen to like that t-shirt.”

There's a rustle and a shift in the mattress as Loki, presumably, sits up behind him, and then a bundle of fabric materializes in his lap with a few green sparkles. 

“Satisfied?” Loki murmurs into his ear, breath fanning along Tony's bare shoulder. Then he flicks Tony's ear lobe with his tongue, and rolls off the bed and to his feet with a ridiculous amount of grace. It's absolutely not fair for anyone to make getting out of bed that elegant, especially not from such an awkward position. Loki strides into the en-suite with a smirk and a wink over his shoulder. Tony grumbles, sets the clothing down on the rumpled sheets, and follows him.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Steve Rogers! Sorry you're not in this chapter more, ;-)


	29. Chapter 29

The Captain is indeed awake, Loki sees when he strolls back into the living area behind Stark. He's sitting up on the couch, still wrapped in the blanket he was given by his comrades. The man looks– better. Not well, but better. He’s still too pale, too thin, his eyes too glassy, but he appears more coherent than he was. As he’s being fussed over by the other Avengers, Loki takes his leave. He has a Stone to find, and no skill to help here– the healing arts are rather not his strong suit. He can mend simple gashes in the flesh, broken bones and bruises, but something as complex as the damage that has been done to the Captain’s brain and mind… That’s far beyond his expertise. No, nature will have to take its course on that, nature and whatever magic the Midgardians have used to transform the Captain to his current form. 

He stops by his apartment to gather a few supplies, tucks some extra knives into a pocket dimension or two, then sets out for the far reaches of the galaxy. Yggdrasil’s branches are friendly and familiar under his feet, luminous with dancing energy. They bounce and spring under him, easily boost him up and out, away into the twisting, flickering paths between the stars. Sometimes, he thinks of just losing himself out here. Jump off an atom, glide on the sound wave of a gas giant, ride the solar wind through a system, forever, just him and the glittering cobweb weave of the universe. 

It’s tempting, but he knows better than to believe himself truly free, truly untouchable, even out here, even in the planes above ordinary space and time and matter. No, first he needs to rid himself of his enemy. And his heart does still belong to Asgard. Maybe one day, when he’s tired of plotting and scheming and making mischief.

***

Knowhere is as it always is: dirty and loud and bustling with life of all shapes and sizes– most of it the less savoury citizens of the galaxy. Loki walks among them in the shape of a Krylorian female, which might not allow him to pass unharassed, but certainly unremarked. He ignores the jeering calls of a group of particularly drunk males in front of a bar, sidesteps a bold tentacle wriggling towards him, even if he does wistfully think of his knives– but he has important business to see to and no time to teach lessons in manners to drunk fools.

He slips into his destination through a side door and makes his way between cages and displays of all kinds. The air hums with the energy of a thousand different artefacts, is filled with the sounds of imprisoned creatures big and small. One day, Loki will put an end to their suffering, but for now, the Collector is far too useful a tool to discard him just yet. 

Taneleer Tivan greets him with a heavy-eyed smile, kisses his hands. 

“Dima, my dear, how are you?”

Loki bats his lashes, simpers a little, shows just enough mischief to make it playful and flirtatious. Like many species, Tivan has a weakness for pretty Krylorians, with their soft pink skin and large, vibrant eyes. He ushers Loki into his office, hands him a drink, makes enough small-talk to almost hide the avaricious calculation in his eyes. Dima, escaped slave and fortune hunter, is reluctantly charmed. 

“I believe I’ve found the information you’ve been looking for,” she tells him with poorly concealed eagerness. 

Tivan sits forward. “Have you indeed?”

Dima nods. “I have found references to a temple built to guard an orb that is said to house unspeakable power. I believe the civilisation and planet in question is Morag.” She produces a small holo recording with the coordinates. “The planet is flooded much of the time, but the waters lower every 300 years. The next interval will happen shortly.”

Tivan’s fingers quiver eagerly as he reaches for the recording, but she pulls it back quickly. “My payment?”

Tivan smiles. “Dima. Have we not done business often enough by now that you know I have no need to play games with my business partners?”

Dima shrugs. “It’s a matter of principle.”

“Very well, my dear.” Tivan rises and pulls open a drawer, retrieves a generous stack of units. “Here you are. A pleasure, as always.”

Loki accepts the payment, makes a show of counting it, and hands over the recording. 

He would’ve preferred to have the Avengers retrieve the thing, of course, but even with his help, Stark’s best estimates for constructing a ship run to three months, and by then their window of easy access to the temple will have passed. He’s considered acquiring a ship for the Avengers, after all, but his objections hold– he’d rather not be the only one competent in flying the thing. 

No, Tivan will do. Loki expected he’d spark his interest when he sent Sif and Volstagg to him with the Aether for safekeeping, and he might as well make use of that interest. If Thanos hears of it, he’s unlikely to consider the Collector a high-priority rival– after all, he’s famous for collecting artefacts, not using them. No, Thanos will consider him the same way Loki does: Convenient. The Collector’s museum is secure enough, and big enough, to store the Stones for a time, enough to deter casual thieves and fortune-hunters, but it’s not so secure as to prove a terrible challenge for the likes of Thanos– or Loki. 

No, Tivan is welcome to the thing– until the time Loki needs it. 

Now if only they could locate the cursed Sceptre… But Stark knows something, Loki’s sure. There was something in his eyes when they last spoke of it that makes Loki inclined to bide his time, for the moment. 

Cloaked against curious eyes, Loki shifts back to his own form and steps once more off into the space outside of space. Four Stones located, two of them secure– only two left. But for the time being, he turns back towards Midgard. He’s not forgotten about Amora, and he doesn’t appreciate her presence so close to Thor at all.

***

Steve’s somewhat more coherent than he was before his nap– enough to establish that he doesn’t want to go back to the hospital floor (“It’s too white”, he says,) so they get him bundled off to his own floor with Sam to look after him and JARVIS instructed to monitor his vital signs closely. After that’s done, Tony heads off to the lab to get back to work cracking the USB thingie. He’s of course totally not avoiding Thor. At all. Nope.

So, obviously, the first thing that happens the next morning is that he runs into Thor. Thor's at the kitchen counter, sipping from a coffee mug when Tony goes to get his own, so Tony walks over and pours before turning to face six-foot-plus of muscle-bound Asgardian. 

“Well. Let's have it, then.”

Thor looks at him, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Well, aren't you gonna give me the shovel talk? You know, 'if you hurt my brother, they'll never find your body' kinda thing,” he elaborates, when Thor gives him that confused 'What are you talking about now, Earthling?' look. 

Thor's face brightens in understanding and amusement. He glances around, reaches into the pocket of his jeans, and pulls out a familiar little cube. Whoops, right. Magical alien spy satellites. Tony needs to do something about that, too– this is his Tower, it’s supposed to be safe. Thor sets the magic jammer on the counter, activates it, then tilts his head in contemplation. 

“You met my brother for the first time at a very difficult time in his life,” he starts, carefully considering his words. And, yeah, no fuck. “By nature, he is a prankster and a mischief-maker, and vicious when riled. However, he has never been cruel to those who share his bed. So, no, Stark, I shall not give you this 'shovel talk'. Should you hurt him, I shall lean back and watch as he exacts his revenge, and lift not a finger to help you.”

Thor and Loki really don't look anything alike, but the way Thor's eyes are narrow, his mouth stretched in a half-smirk sharp as a knife? That's pure Loki. 

“Of course,” Thor continues, “if he were to hurt you and you wished for assistance in your own retribution, all you need do is ask– Mjolnir and I are at your service.”

“What, so you, he and the hammer really is a thing? He did mention something along those lines...”

Thor winces a little. “We do have our share of disagreements, Loki and I.”

Tony snorts, amused. “Yeah, that's what he said.”

They share the rest of their morning coffee amicably, and then Thor heads off to do whatever it is he does when he’s not super-heroing and it’s back to the lab for Tony. He does wheedle Jane into joining him at some point in the day, because alien physics things, and it’s fun. Yeah, he knows he’s not a team player, usually, but Jane is smart and sassy and tells him to shut up, she needs to think, and he respects that. 

It’s his day for women telling him what to do, apparently, because Pep calls him in the evening, and when she hears Steve’s more or less awake, orders him to get his ass down there and check in on him. And, no, apparently using JARVIS’ video feed doesn’t count.

***

So, the next morning (after an entire day with no Loki in his bed,) Tony saunters out of the elevator onto Steve’s floor.

“Hey, Cap, how are you?” Steve’s sitting up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, Sam in the other corner, so he’s better, right? “Pepper says I’m supposed to ask that, and talk to you and shit, though really, if you want someone to talk to, I’d recommend Bruce– he’s a _great_ listener, when he doesn’t fall asleep while you’re spilling your inner-most secrets.”

Steve smiles faintly. “Hello, Tony.”

Tony plops himself down in an arm chair kitty-corner to Steve’s place on the couch. “So? How are you? Only, Pepper’s probably gonna interrogate me, so I need something to tell her.”

“I’m alright.” Steve’s still looking pretty wan, no matter what he says. “Tell Pepper thanks for asking after me.”

Tony makes a noise of agreement, and then there’s an awkward pause as he wonders whether it’d be horribly tactless and traumatic to ask about what happened.

Steve snorts. “Okay, Tony, just ask.”

“Uh...” Tony grimaces a little. “You sure? Like, I wouldn’t want to damage your delicate constitution or anything...”

Steve rolls his eyes, and Tony takes that as a sign to proceed. He sits forward. “Okay, so what was it like in there? L– the guy we’re not supposed to talk about said something about how it was like a virtual reality or something?”

Even Tony doesn’t miss the way Steve’s shoulders hunch a little. He darts a look at Wilson, ready to back off. But Wilson’s watching Steve with liquid dark eyes and is no help whatsoever, and then Steve’s talking. 

He describes the fake forest and the snow and the fog, which, still creepy. But it’s that they used Barnes to get to Steve that makes anger flare hot in his chest. And, yes, they’re the bad guys, they’re dicks, he knows that, but that doesn’t change the fact that he itches to put on his suit and go punch some Hydra fuckers when Steve haltingly talks about the walking and the camp fires.

“I don’t really remember all of it,” he says with a small shrug. “Just bits and pieces. I guess… I should’ve known...”

“Hey, no!” Tony interrupts. “We don’t even know where that technology comes from, and the docs found enough drugs in your bloodstream to stock a pharmacy, okay, nothing about what happened was your fault.”

Steve shakes his head a little, shoots a glance at Sam. “If I’d paid more attention, we wouldn’t’ve ended up captured in the first place.”

“Trust me, we’ve met speedster boy– he’s kinda hard to pin down.”

Steve leans back a bit in the couch, sighs. “Yeah, maybe. But you’d think I’d at least recognize if someone’s impersonating my best friend.”

“Not if you’re high as a kite with probably-alien tech messing with your head. And… we don’t know how long they had Barnes. Nat’s still working on the hard drives we pulled from the bunker, but who knows what kind of info they got from him while he was brain-washed?”

Okay, so tact is _really_ not Tony’s strong suit– he was trying to help, not make Steve look worse. He shoots an apologetic look towards Wilson, who’s giving him narrow eyes. But Steve visibly pulls himself together just a moment later. 

“Is there any news on him?”

“No.” It’s not really a lie– he’s not _sure_ Barnes was in Russia, or that he has the Sceptre. Okay, that sounds weak even in his own head. But Barnes doesn’t want Steve to know where he is, and Tony’s not gonna betray that trust, even though lying to Steve makes him feel like shit. Fuck, this is a mess. Barnes had better stop playing cat and mouse at some point. And what’s he gonna do with the Sceptre, anyway? Tony prefers that he has it as opposed to Hydra, but still. 

“Maybe Nat’ll find something useful on those hard drives,” he offers by way of redirecting the conversation.

Steve makes a sceptical noise but lets it go, and instead asks what happened while he and Wilson were Hydra’s guests, so Tony ends up giving them the run-down of the last few weeks, in broad strokes. It’s surprisingly difficult without mentioning Loki– he was kinda essential in both the dragon thing and getting Cap and Wilson out. 

At least both of them are appropriately freaked out by the dragon. Seriously. A _dragon_. Tony might’ve spent three unpleasant days in a cave with the thing, but he’s still not quite sure he believes it. 

They commiserate about how weird life has gotten, but Cap’s visibly flagging, so Tony takes his leave and gets back to work. He’d kind of like to have some results to show for it by the time Loki shows up again.

***

Loki, being the contrary fucker that he is, doesn’t show his pretty face for the entire weekend, or on Monday, either. Tony tells himself it doesn’t mean anything– okay, so he kind of mentioned Loki in an unsecured location the other week when he was phoning with Pepper, but it was like a _second_ , and also, he’s not _worrying_ about Loki, fuck no, Loki’s big and bad and scary, he can take care of himself. Also, just because he’s currently being helpful and also damn good in bed doesn’t mean Tony needs to care. It doesn’t make them friends.

So he’s definitely not relieved under the obligatory heart attack when he’s staring at holograms on Tuesday and there’s a thoughtful “Hmm.” from behind his shoulder. 

“Fuck!” Nope, just the usual heart attack. He whirls his chair around, and, yep, Loki. Hale and hearty and smirking like an asshole. “JARVIS! I’m putting a bell on you,” he informs Loki. “JARVIS, I want auditory clue as soon as you detect Loki teleporting in within, say, 30 feet of me.”

“Very good, Sir.”

Tony eyes Loki, who’s still smirking, arms loosely crossed over his chest. “Or if he enters that radius undetected any other way.”

“As you wish, Sir.”

Loki pouts a little, in an entirely affected way. “You spoil my fun, Stark.”

“Oh, boo-hoo. I’m not having a heart attack so you can have your fun.”

Loki tilts his head a little, and his face turns thoughtful as he looks at Tony’s chest– at where the arc reactor’s glowing softly under his shirt. “ _Can_ you have a heart attack?”

It’s been a long time since Tony’s felt self-conscious about the arc reactor. It’s been years, and he’s gotten used to it. More recently, Extremis has helped, has smoothed away the pull of scars, the odd jab of pain when he moves wrong and bone meets metal and some left-over nerve ending fires. And Loki’s done a good job of paying it no special attention when they were fucking. 

So it’s only now, both of them dressed and not even that close, with Loki’s thoughtful eyes on it, that Tony once again becomes aware of the weight of the metal, the restriction on his breathing where his lungs can’t expand, the coconut taste on his tongue. 

“No,” he answers after a moment. “Not without some serious damage.” Not as long as the reactor is there, sending its pulses into his chest to replace the muscle and nerves that no longer exist to keep his heart beating. 

Loki smiles. It’s a complex one, small and wry and a little bitter. “Maybe one day you’ll tell me how it works.”

“Maybe.” ‘Not likely,’ his tone says, and Loki acknowledges it with a twitch of an eyebrow, a curl of his lips. 

“How goes your work on the data, then?”

Tony eyes him for another moment, then waves a hand for Loki to step up next to him. “Well, this is what I got so far. Feel free to chip in with anything helpful anytime.”

***

Tony Stark’s mind is… amazing.

Certainly, he’s lacking knowledge Loki takes for granted– but the speed at which he assimilates new information, how he leaps ahead on the barest bones Loki gives him, how he immediately starts extrapolating concepts and consequences and theories, spins them off in new directions with fingers flying across holographic screens… It’s unexpectedly gorgeous. Formulas spin in a galaxy whirl of light around them, Midgardian symbols and numbers, in and around sketches and schematics in ghostly blue that reflect as pin-pricks in Stark’s dark eyes. 

He makes Loki _curious_. Curious to learn the secrets of the device in his chest, to find out what kind of man would use his own body as a testing ground for new technologies. It’s been a long time since he’s been that curious about a person. Magical artefacts and forgotten spells and the secrets of the universe, yes, but people are, all too often, disappointingly simple. Stark, though– he’s interesting. A powerful man who threw his power away, willingly– only to re-claim it in a more personal form. It doesn’t hurt that he’s beautiful, and knows it, just as he knows his way around the bedroom. 

Yes, Loki’s interest is well and truly caught, and he can’t even bring himself to regret it– he’s having far too much fun. And speaking of fun… 

He slides off of his perch on the table, steps behind Stark instead, braces his hands either side of the holographic keyboard under the man’s fingers. Stark’s hands still and his voice trails off as Loki lowers his head, inhales, and runs his parted lips up the side of Stark’s neck. 

Stark’s breath catches. 

“I thought you were here to work.”

Loki kisses the corner of his jaw. “So I am. But all work and no play...”

Stark laughs a little, but his head is tipping to the side, entirely agreeable despite his words. “Neither of us is ever gonna be dull, Prancer. Also, you really shouldn’t be this familiar with what we say here. It’s creepy.”

Loki smiles against Stark’s jaw, runs the bridge of his nose and then his tongue over the shell of Stark’s ear. “True. And I do make it a point to acquaint myself with local customs if I intend to stay somewhere a while.”

“Creepy,” Stark maintains, with his head resting back against Loki’s shoulder, eyes growing heavy. 

Loki hums, in pleasure at the weight on his shoulder and the vulnerable stretch of skin of Stark’s throat rather than in agreement. He runs his tongue along Stark’s cheek, slips his hands under the hem of his t-shirt. The skin of Stark’s flanks is warm against his palm. 

It’s easy to spin Stark around in his chair and urge him to his feet. Loki crowds close, backs Stark against the table as he takes his mouth in a kiss and hooks his fingers over the waistband of his jeans to undo his fly.

***

Tony acknowledges that he has no willpower when Loki’s all over him. But his mouth is hot and wet, and his fingers are very close to Tony’s hardening cock, and who needs willpower, right?

And then Loki pulls away from the kiss and sinks to one knee, taking Tony’s pants with him. Tony blinks, and stares down at that dark head so close to his now-naked groin. Loki smirks up at him, and then the tip of his tongue darts out to lick his lips– blatantly, suggestively. 

Tony swallows. His hands reach for the edge of the table behind him, curl around it. 

Loki shifts forwards, leans in… by-passes Tony's cock, sets his lips to the corner of his left hip-bone instead, mouths at it. Tony huffs out a guttural noise of mingled pleasure and frustration, reaches down to tangle a hand in Loki's hair. Loki's breath is gusting against his skin, cool against the place where his mouth was when he moves on downwards, licks at the crease between thigh and hip, and _so_ close…!

Tony's just about resigned himself to Loki being a fucking tease when Loki shifts to where he wants him– licks up his cock in a broad, certain swipe of tongue, green eyes wicked, and sucks him down without pause, without hesitation, without a sign of discomfort. 

Tony swears, his head tilting back, his fingers flexing around the black strands curling against his skin, and it's just hot wet suction, absolute perfection as Loki slides his mouth up and down his cock in long, sure strokes, and Tony doesn't care what anyone says, this Loki thing is the best idea he's ever had, this is divine, this is heaven…!

He moans in protest when Loki pulls off, tips his head forward to look down in confusion to where Loki's kneeling, his hands warm along Tony’s hips.

“Are you sure you won’t tell me how that device of yours works?” Loki asks, eyebrows scrunched in question as he flicks a glance towards the light glowing under Tony’s shirt, voice smooth like he didn't just spend the last however many minutes with Tony's cock down his throat, like his lips aren't pink and shiny with spit and pre-come. 

It takes Tony a moment to remember what words are and how to use them. 

“Fuck yes,” he replies, and, yeah, he sounds a lot more wrecked than Loki, and he'll mind– later. 

Loki pouts, leans in to mouth at the trail of hair below Tony’s navel. “Absolutely sure?” His breath fans warm against Tony’s stomach, and he’s so close… 

“Maybe later.”

“Oh, good,” Loki purrs, and grins wide and disconcertingly sharp, considering the proximity of his teeth to vulnerable body parts Tony's rather fond of. “I can work with that.” 

“Great,” Tony agrees. “Now get your mouth back on my cock.”

“Now, now.” Loki gives him a chiding look. “Considering the service I'm providing, surely you can ask more nicely than _that_.”

“Ugh.” Tony lets his head drop back, stares at the ceiling. “Will you _please_ put your mouth back on gah…!” He loses track of the rest of the sentence when Loki promptly rewards him by doing as requested. And he doesn't let up again, works Tony smooth and steady while Tony's breathing grows choppy, as he starts to tremble, hips flexing instinctively, pleasure coiling deep in his body. He doesn't stop, either, when Tony feels his balls draw up, his thighs quiver under Loki's palms, keeps going right ahead while Tony's mind whites out with pleasure and release. 

For a few moments after, he just stands there, catching his breath, holds on to the edge of the table while Loki cleans him off with meticulous swipes of his tongue, soft warm wet caresses along his cock and balls and then up to his stomach. He's feeling pleasantly boneless, skin humming, while Loki sits back on his heels, licks his lips with all signs of satisfaction. 

Then he rises to his feet, smoothly, crowds against Tony, nuzzles against the side of his face. 

“Now, if you please...” He wraps his fingers around Tony’s wrist, pulls his hand to the front of his leather pants and the hot bulge there. Tony’s fingers tighten, Loki shivers a little, hips rolling, and naturally, that’s when the alarm goes off.

***


	30. Chapter 30

Tony swears, and Loki growls into his neck, his fingers tighten around Tony’s wrist. 

“JARVIS!” Tony demands. “Please tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”

“That is the alarm signalling an Avengers emergency, Sir,” JARVIS says, ever so helpful. 

Yeah, that’s what Tony thought it was. 

“Fuck!”

Loki nips his neck, chuckles ruefully. “Apparently not.” He lets go of Tony’s hand, takes half an uncomfortable step back. “Go.”

Tony gives him a half-apologetic glance, and stalks off to the middle of the workshop floor. “The X-2, JARV. Pull up comms, tell me what’s going on.”

What’s going on is that something (or some _one_ ) very fast is hitting stores along Fifth Avenue– the big names. This is where Tony shops (or where his people shop for him, anyway.) It’s also on his doorstep, pretty much– and Tony knows a challenge when he sees one. 

“Alright everyone, looks like speedster kid is being a bad boy. Let’s cut this shopping spree short.”

As armour slides into place around him and the face plate drops, JARVIS tracks another shop alarm. Tiffany’s, this time. 

“Do you want me to…?” That’s Steve, and there’s only one answer:

“Hell, no! You stay put, Cap. Thor, you too. Bruce, we’ll call you if we need you, but no offence to the big guy, I’d rather not have him out there getting annoyed at something he can’t catch.”

Bruce murmurs something polite and agreeable. 

“Widow, Hawkeye, what’s your status? Wilson, you up for this?”

“En route to the jet,” Nat’s voice comes, all business. 

“I’d be happy to,” Wilson says, “but I got no wings.”

“Of course you do,” Tony says. “Grab an elevator, JARVIS’ll take you to the armoury. What do you think you have a locker for?”

“I have a locker?”

“Of course you do,” Tony repeats. “What, you think I’d make you an Avenger and not give you a locker?”

“I didn’t know there were lockers,” Wilson says. “No one told me.”

“Why not?” Tony demands. “I’m sure I mentioned it.”

“Not to me.”

“Guys? I told him about the locker, right?”

“I didn’t know he had a locker,” Nat answers helpfully. 

“Nope,” Clint agrees. 

Okay, maybe that slipped Tony’s mind– he’s busy, okay? “Well, now you know. So get suited up, I’ll head out and keep an eye on wonder boy.”

“Be careful,” Nat advises. “The last time...”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, can we not mention last time? Or the dragon? Especially not the dragon.” Tony crosses the workshop as he speaks at a half-run, to where JARVIS is opening the outer doors. 

“Sure, we won’t mention the dragon,” Clint says. “The reeeally big, fire-breathing dragon.”

“The one that liked your shiny suit so much it decided to keep you since you matched its colours so nicely?” Nat adds sweetly. “No, we’re not going to mention that dragon.”

“Oh, ha ha,” Tony grumbles. He can hear the quinjet engines firing up over the comm line, and the HUD is telling him that Nat’s running emergency flight check and JARVIS is opening the roof. 

Then he’s in the air, thrusters boosting him into an arc into the sky over New York, summer-blue and speckled with clouds, and he’ll never, ever get tired of that feeling. 

He’s not out to joyride, though, so he circles closer to the site of the disturbance, only a dozen blocks or so from the tower. 

“Uh,” says Clint over the comms, “just a question: Do we actually have a plan on how to contain this guy?”

“We gotta slow him down. JARVIS should be able to track him through the cameras, so we just gotta corner him.”

“Right.” Clint doesn’t sound convinced. “Only he can see us coming from a mile away since he’s so _damn fast_.” 

“That’s quitter talk, Hawkeye, and we’re Avengers– we don’t quit.” 

Clint’s sigh drifts over the comm. “I really hope Cap’s back on his feet soon– _he_ ’d have an actual plan.”

“Oi!”

Nat chuckles. “He’s not wrong, Iron Man.”

Well, maybe not, but JARVIS is already scanning the area for potential dead ends and ambushes.

***

Steve listens to the banter in his ear piece while he watches the action on the big screen in the living room– the press and police are arriving, and a news helicopter caught the red-and-gold streak of Tony’s exit, then the launch of the quinjet seconds behind him. Circling overhead, it’s broadcasting the Avengers’ arrival on Fifth Avenue, with the flicker of police lights in the background and the wail of sirens rising. Sam flashes through the shot a moment later, to the delighted confusion of the reporters.

Steve knows Tony’s right– he’s in no shape to be out there, not yet. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t chafe. 

There’s a soft kind of ‘ding’ sound. Steve looks away from the screen for the source, and what he finds is Loki, just a few yards away in the middle of the room. 

“Loki,” he says, more in surprise than in greeting, but Loki inclines his head at him. 

“Captain.” Then he directs his voice at the empty room in general. “And here I thought Stark instructed you to warn _him_ of my arrival.”

“I am extrapolating that his intention was to announce your presence in general, Mr Laufeyson,” JARVIS replies with perfect politeness. 

“I’m certain,” Loki says, very dry, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. Then he saunters over until he’s next to Steve, eyes on the screen. “Quite a production, for one little thief.”

He’s out of arm’s reach, but only just, and the back of Steve’s neck prickles with his proximity. The only time he’s been this close to Loki physically was in Stuttgart, and on the quinjet. During the attack, he was in the streets, tearing Loki’s creatures away from people, all too aware that every moment he was protecting one person, someone else, somewhere else, was dying. They couldn’t be everywhere, they couldn’t save everyone. And it was all the fault of the man now standing next to him. 

Alright, so if what Tony told him is true, not _all_ Loki’s fault. Still. Loki’s the one who chose the battleground. Loki’s the one who decided to bring a war into the middle of a dense, civilian population. Loki’s the one who decided that these people were acceptable collateral damage. 

And Steve is no saint, and he’s been to war. He knows it’s never clean, it’s never fair, and it’s always horrible. He still finds that cold calculation hard to tolerate. 

“It's not just any thief,” he answers. “It's not like we got a handle on him at any time before.” He gives Loki a look. “I don't suppose you're inclined to get out there and give us a hand.”

Loki smiles a little, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Not much inclined, no,” he agrees. “I do have a cover to maintain, and such.”

A moment of silence settles over them as they both watch the screen. Ironman and Falcon are circling, firing sparingly whenever JARVIS extrapolates a clear shot. The CCTV cameras Tony's hacked into aren't as plentiful as those in the Tower, so it's taking a bit of time.

Of course, that's not the plan. The quinjet's landed, and Tony's sent Widow and Hawkeye to set up an ambush. He and Sam are just keeping the speedster busy, and away from more targets. Or they're trying to, anyway.

“Right,” Steve says. “Mute, JARVIS. About that...”

Loki scrunches up his eyebrows quizzically. He's still as tall as Steve, and out of place in his black leather and gold armour, and he's still close enough that he might be able to lunge at Steve before he can react, so Steve's not quite sure how he manages to look that innocent.

“Tony says you helped. Getting him back. And me.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “Yes. You've all rather spent far too much time getting yourselves lost these last few weeks.”

“So you did it because it served your interest.”

“Of course. Allies aren't much good to me if they're sitting in a dragon cave.” He smirks. “Besides, stealing from the dragon was fun.”

“And me?”

“Stark was hardly going to get much done of the work I need him to do while he's scouring the planet for your whereabouts. I expedited matters.”

Its odd. Loki's not claiming he's acted out of anything but self-interest. He's not trying to garner any sympathy, quite the opposite. Strangely, this makes Steve more inclined to believe him– of course, that could be the point. Loki's been a manipulator for centuries, for millennia. Steve's not naive enough to believe he'd see through it if Loki pulled something on him.

Still. There's little point in dwelling on something he can't change anyway.

“You were there, weren't you?” he asks. “In the... dream. Illusion.” Whatever it was.

Loki cocks his head. “Yes, I was. Do you remember it?”

“I... maybe. It's all...” He waves a hand vaguely. There’s maybe images, a splash of black and green more vivid than anything around him, the sight of Loki’s sharp profile against grey fog and the shadows of trees. More than that, there’s a shiver in his gut that tells him it’s a good thing whenever he sees Loki, even if his head is telling him the opposite. It’s similar to when he sees Sam, something easing in him. Maybe it’s that that prompts him to ask: “Tony says you weren't really acting on your own. That you got mind-controlled, too.”

“Controlled?” Loki smiles without much humour. “No. Influenced, yes.”

“How...” Steve hesitates, then figures, what the hell. If anyone can answer this, it's Loki. “How do you know what's real?”

Because he thinks this is real. He thinks he's standing in Avengers Tower and talking to Loki. But when he was in the forest, he also thought it was real.

“Ah,” Loki says. “You don't, ultimately.” His grin is more a baring of teeth. “Maybe I'm still on some frozen rock and this is an illusion of the Mad Titan's to determine what I know about the Stones.”

“Um,” Steve says. That's. .. uncomfortably close to his own thoughts.

“Maybe you are nothing but an illusion, and we're not having this conversation at all,” Loki continues. “If anyone has the necessary power for it, it would be him.”

“So how do you. ..?” Cope, Steve wonders. Survive.

Loki shrugs. “While it's possible that all this,” he waves a hand, “is an illusion, its not very likely. Rather a bit too elaborate. While he has the power to, how do you say, pull this off, he also has the power to rip any knowledge straight out of my mind. And he's really not a subtle creature. He'd hardly pass up the amusement of the accompanying agony on my part.”

Loki's tone is matter of fact, almost contemplative, but Steve thinks he himself probably goes a little green there. Whatever's on his face, Loki smirks, just a little.

“Oh, please, don't feel sorry on my account, my good Captain. I assure you, I intend to pay him back every ounce of discomfort he visited on me a hundredfold.”

His eyes are very cold, the sharp lines of his face vicious for a moment. Steve reigns in the instinct to take a step back. Maybe he notices, because Loki relaxes, smiles faintly, and packs all that rage and menace away somewhere out of sight. Out of sight, Steve tells himself, but better not out of mind.

“But. You wish to know how to convince yourself that this is reality, and not another illusion inflicted on you by your captors.” Loki considers for a moment. “They were not very skilful at crafting their little world, and the only reason you were not aware was the substantial amount of chemicals they drugged you with. Surely you can feel the difference? Surely your mind is a lot clearer than it was then?”

Steve has to admit that’s true– he remembers, with a shiver, that feeling of his head full of fog, the way you sometimes feel in a dream, where the knowledge you’re reaching for just slips and slides away from you. And he still feels off-balance, he feels a bit like there’s a glass wall between him today and him before the forest, but it’s not the same, and he’s wise enough to recognize the signs of shock. From what the doctors have told him, the serum’s doing a great job of fixing the physical damage to his brain, but that doesn’t mean he’s completely unscathed. 

“So what about a better illusion? What if someone more skilful was messing with my head?”

Loki smiles a little, crooked. “Like me? Or the Titan?”

Yeah, like that exactly. Steve raises an eyebrow, gives Loki his own innocent look. 

Loki… chuckles. It’s a surprisingly nice sound. “Very well. If you are not quite sure whether you are in your own mind, look for inconsistencies. Repetitions of shapes, information that does not fit. The devil, as you say, is in the details, and it takes a formidable mind to account for all of them.” Loki turns his head to look at the screen, where police lights flash and Tony’s armour sparks in the sun as he circles a high-rise and lands on a nearby roof. Steve’s earpiece informs him that Tony thought he saw movement that JARVIS couldn’t track, but Steve’s not sure Loki notices any of that. 

“As I said, there is never a guarantee. But a good indicator is if you learn new information, particularly if it is something your enemies would wish to know also. After all, what would be the point of making you aware of this knowledge? And so, I am reasonably sure that this is not an illusion and we are, in fact, having this conversation.” 

Loki gives him a side-ways look, bares his teeth in a quick grin, and it’s a very weird realization that Steve’s not the only one who’s not entirely sure about the reality he inhabits at this precise moment. 

Then Loki blinks, eyes focusing on the screen, and says: “Oh dear.”

Steve turns his head to look at the TV in time to see the slender fingers of a blond woman leave Tony’s bare cheek. She’s devastating, tall with generous curves emphasized by the green shirt and black leather pants she wears, Tony’s visor is up for some reason, and it could be a trick of the light but Steve thinks there’s some gold-and-green sparks trailing after her fingers.

***

She is the most beautiful thing Tony's ever seen. _Ever_. And how… how did he not realize that before? How did he spend a single moment unaware that she was the pinnacle of creation, the most amazing being to ever exist? The light in her green eyes, that small smile on her beautiful, beautiful lips– he could die for that.

She's looking at him, and the first blinding ray of sunlight after he stepped out of the cave wasn't as bright and warm as her attention. 

There's two loud bangs, and her eyes leave his to look at the source– Nat, guns pointed. 

They're hurting her. Tony knows they're his friends, and he knows they want to hurt her, to trap her. And they took her attention away from him. 

Heat flares through him, bright, searing anger. 

He knows they're his friends and _he doesn't care_. And he doesn't even feel bad about it. 

Tony's not a good person. He knows that. And as his heart pounds, as his fingers tremble in his gloves and the need for violence soars through his blood, he stops trying to pretend he is. 

He's Tony Stark, and he's going to prove to Amora that there's no one else like him.

***

“Iron Man? Iron Man, please come in,” Steve says into his comm. He can’t see Tony’s expression, the news helicopter that’s transmitting the footage is way too far away, but there’s something in the way Tony’s shoulder’s straighten, the way his head turns to look at Nat, crouched on the rooftop where Falcon dropped her, that sets Steve’s gut churning. Then Tony’s visor comes down, his hands come up, and they’re pointing at Nat.

“Watch out!” Steve shouts, even as Tony fires, both repulsors at full power. The blast sends Nat tumbling backwards, over the edge of the roof. “Sam!” Steve takes an aborted step forward, clenches his fists, his heart pounding hard, but he’s too far away, he’s here in the Tower, useless, while Nat is falling blocks away, and Sam’s form already streaked past and over the lip of the roof. Clint’s demanding to know what’s going on over the comms, and Tony blasts off from the roof in a flare of rockets and a cloud of dust. For a moment, Steve thinks he’s going after Sam, but no, he takes off back towards Fifth Avenue. 

“I got her!” Sam announces in his ear, and Steve’s knees feel a little bit weak for just a moment. “This is Falcon, Widow’s okay, though I think her arm’s broken.”

“I’m fine,” Nat announces flatly. The camera locks on as Falcon rises from the alley, Nat held in front of him with his arms around her waist, and follows them to a nearby roof. 

“What…?” Steve turns to Loki. “What just happened?!”

Loki’s eyes are narrowed as he watches the screen. “Amora,” he growls. “That fool! I _told_ him not to let her touch him!”

“What does that _mean_?” Steve asks, while Clint demands: “Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?!” in his ear. 

“She has spelled him. He will do anything for her, now. Tell your companions that he is not to be trusted.”

“Can’t you do something about it?” Steve demands, then activates his comm. “Iron Man is compromised, I repeat, Iron Man is compromised. Loki’s identified the hostile as Amora. Some kind of spell.”

Clint’s swearing creatively, and Nat mutters something in Russian. 

“I can lift the spell, if you bring him here. Tell the others to stay clear of Amora if they can and to not let her touch them.”

Steve has JARVIS cut Tony out of their comm line, then relays the information, asks: “Falcon, where’s he heading?”

“Looks like… uh. Tiffany’s?”

“Why would he…?” But whatever Tony’s up to, they’ll need to get him back here. “Any chance we can talk him down?” he asks Loki, and gets sceptical eyebrows in response. 

“You could try, I suppose, but there wouldn’t be much point to these types of spells if they were shaken off that easily. Stark has no training in the magical arts, those of the mind or otherwise. Pure stubbornness will not be sufficient.”

“Great,” Steve grumbles. “Okay, team, if you get a chance, try to talk to him, but don’t count on it working. We need to be ready to do this the hard way.”

“Didn’t think this’d be the way I’d test those new EMP arrows he made me,” Clint grumbles. 

“You think he’d give you a weapon that’d work against the suit?” Nat asks. 

“No,” Clint admits. “But just in case he did, I ought to try, right?”

“He’s just entered the Tiffany’s building,” Sam reports. “Any idea what he wants there?”

“Did this text ribbon not say something about a diamond that’s not been stolen?” Loki asks, nodding to the update feed running at the bottom of the screen. Steve didn’t pay much attention to it. He groans. “The Tiffany diamond,” he tells everyone. 

There’s a moment of silence, then Clint snorts. “Big shiny rock to impress the girl? Yeah, that sounds just like evil Tony.”

“That sounds just like Tony regardless of whether he’s evil,” Nat says caustically. 

“Alright, assuming he’s gonna want to bring it to her, we know which way he’s likely to take. Falcon, get Hawkeye onto a rooftop. Widow, stay nearby. We have to get him out of the sky and then close in fast. His weaponry is ranged, you’ll have to keep him on the ground and in close quarters.”

“I believe,” Loki says thoughtfully, “that you’d be best served to call in Dr Banner’s alter ego.”

Steve blinks at him, because… that’s almost a compliment, isn’t it, if Loki believes they’ll need the Hulk to bring Tony in?

“Let’s see if we can capture him, first. I’d rather not let the Hulk loose on the streets if we don’t have to.” Fuck, if it comes to that it’ll be a nightmare. Rogue superheroes having throw-down fights in the middle of the city never goes over well with the city officials and the locals.

“JARVIS, can you get me a line to whoever’s in charge down there?”

Might as well start evacuating, just in case they do have to call in the Hulk. Steve winces at the collateral damage _that_ ’ll cause– and if it’s only property damage, they’ll be damn lucky. Also, he feels sick at the thought of asking Bruce to take on Tony– to fight a friend. Tony’s not going to come out of it well, either. Even if he’ll be physically okay (and there is no guarantee of that, if the Hulk’s involved), what it’ll do to him emotionally… 

This Amora has a lot to answer for.

***

There's a lot of cops yelling at him outside when Tony walks out of the broken front door of the Tiffany building. Glass crunches under his boots. The cops are also pointing a lot of guns at him.

Tony ignores them, fires his thrusters and shoots off into the sky again.

He could kill them, easily, and for a moment he considered it. But they're no threat to him and he's got more important things to do. You don't keep the most beautiful creature in the world (or any world) waiting. So he only pushes the thrusters a little harder.

“Sir. Your speed is exceeding safety margins by twenty-eight percent,” JARVIS tells him. “And may I say, you do not appear to be acting rationally. I recommend...”

“Shut up, J.”

Of course, JARVIS does. Tony frowns a little. What was he thinking, allowing his AI to get this mouthy? Sure, it was kinda fun while it lasted, but seriously- he'll have to do some coding when he gets back home.

There’s an impact, and the suit flickers for a moment, Tony dips in the air in darkness before everything comes back online again– Barton’s fired one of the EMP arrows at him. 

Really, Tony thinks. Did he think he’d give him weapons that’d work against him? Did he think Tony’d leave his suit vulnerable to something so obvious as an EMP? 

Still, it pisses him off. Is that any way to repay the guy who spent hours developing these damn things in the first place?

Rationally, he knows he should’ve expected it. He _knows_ something’s changed, that he’s acting different. 

He just doesn’t care. 

Everything is so much clearer now. 

He knows the others, his former team, his former friends, will try to get him back to the way he was. They’ll want to capture him, to take it away– the freedom. They’ll want to stuff him back into that guilt-wracked existence where he questions everything he does, where he toes the line, where he _cares_. 

Fuck that. Why would he want that back? 

He doesn’t even understand _why_ he acted like that– he’s Tony fucking Stark. He has everything. Why did he let them hem him in, why did he not take the power he has and _use_ it? What are they going to do, arrest him? He snorts. He could build an army of automated suits, a legion of drones. He could buy every corrupt politician on the planet– and let’s face it, that’s a lot of them. He could hack all the world’s electronics. It wouldn’t take much– a few months’ work. 

He could rule the world. 

In fact, he should. Emperor Stark– that has a nice ring. He’s rather sure Amora would agree. This little rock might make a good first impression, but he thinks she’ll appreciate a world to rule. 

It’ll be better for the planet, anyway. Why does he just fly around in a stupid suit, fighting one up-start super villain at a time when he could stop all the needless wars that are racking up death tolls every day, _every hour_ , that make Loki’s attack look like child’s play? He can stop deforestation, he can get people clean water and clean energy in, like, a snap if he doesn’t have to mince around fucking political, power-mongering red tape. 

He can get Extremis out there and fix AIDS and cancer and malaria and every other thing. He’ll have to work on it a bit, pull its teeth so he doesn’t create a world full of super-people, but he’s a genius– it won’t be that hard. 

He already owns a good chunk of media and telecommunications. It’ll be easy to convince people that that’s what they want. They’ll love him.

Yeah. He’ll neutralize his former friends, he’ll get home and put JARVIS back in line, and then he’ll get cracking on Planet Stark. It’ll be amazing. It’ll be fun. He’ll convince Amora to stay in the Tower with him, too– she’s a woman of style and class, and he has everything to make her comfortable. Not to mention, he’s magnificent in bed. 

First, though, he’ll have to teach his former team a lesson. No one messes with Tony Stark.

***

Steve watches on the screen as Tony turns on them. The news helicopter keeps its healthy distance (and thank God for that) but it’s still clear enough what’s happening.

Loki’s right. 

The EMP arrow didn’t work. Clint follows up with explosives, nets… glue? Tony shrugs it all off and then opens fire in return– with one of his arm rockets. Steve winces when it takes out not only the roof top Clint was on, but the floor beneath it, too. Windows shatter, dust rises, glass shards sparkle in the sun. Clint’s swearing into the comms, so he’s okay, but Steve prays that floor was empty. 

Sam tackles Tony in mid-air while he’s recovering his trajectory from the shot, tries to force him to the ground. They tumble through the air, swirls and spirals of exhaust tracing their path. Sam gets him down to a half dozen feet above the street level, and then a blur of red and black launches at them from a second-story window they’re falling past– Nat. 

Steve doesn’t know what exactly happens next. They’re between houses, the angle is bad, all he can see is a tangle of armour and wings and limbs. But after only a few moments, Sam goes flying up the street, and Tony rises into the air once more, speeds off to the rooftop where the woman is waiting. 

“Falcon? Widow?”

There’s a cough and a wheeze over the comm line that sounds like Sam. “Damn, no one told me he packs that much of a punch. That’s gonna leave a mark.”

“I’m fine,” Nat says. “But we need more hands here. Steve, this is a Code Green.”

“I’m at the Quinjet,” Clint announces. “I’ll be there in a second to pick you guys up.”

“No,” Nat disagrees. “Get to the Tower. Bruce, get ready for pick-up.” Steve can hear her moving. “Falcon’s got some bruised ribs, but they’re not broken. We’ll rendezvous with you after you’ve dropped Bruce off.”

“Steve?” That’s Bruce, and his tone is so calm, so neutral– Steve clenches his fists. 

“JARVIS! Can't you do something? Shut down the suit or something?”

“No, Captain,” JARVIS answers. “I am aware Mr Stark is not acting within normal parameters. However, my protocols prevent me from interfering with his express wishes.”

It could be Steve's imagination, but the AI sounds just a little strained.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve says, and his voice cracks in the middle, he needs to clear his throat. Dammit, they’re all out there fighting, the least he can do is take this like a man. “Roger, Widow. Bruce, you have a go. Try not to break too much.”

Bruce makes a sound that’s somewhere between a snort and a chuckle. “Tell that to the other guy.”

***

When Tony arrives back on the rooftop, Amora’s still there– but she’s not alone. Speedster kid is with her, an open duffel bag at his feet, and Amora’s sifting through a handful of jewellery in her palm.

Up close and standing still, speedster kid is tall, blond, and reasonably handsome. Not handsome enough Tony’d do him– and he doubts Amora has, or will. 

Tony flips the visor up as he struts over, smirks at the kid and the dark look he’s getting. 

“Move over, Junior, and let the adults talk.” 

He presents the diamond to Amora with a flourish. “They say quality over quantity– but I say, why can’t you have both?”

Amora’s eyes light up when she catches sight of the stone and she vanishes the assortment of rings and stones and necklaces in her hand with a gesture Tony’s familiar with from Loki. 

She plucks the yellow diamond out of his palm, and her fingers almost brush Tony’s armour– he wishes he’d thought to retract the gloves. Maybe he could’ve felt the heat from her skin against his. 

“Not bad, pet,” she croons, and Tony preens. He’s just about to invite her to the Tower, lay on the charm and the wit, when there’s a roar coming down from overhead and the building rocks under him. 

He whirls, and yep, that’s the Hulk, rising out of the crater his landing’s created on the roof. In the distance, Tony registers the whine of the quinjet. 

Which he should’ve paid attention to, but JARVIS is supposed to warn him against approaching threats, and there’s not a blip on his HUD when he snaps the faceplate back down, and he’ll really need to rearrange some of that code, but for now, there’s something very big and very green and very angry charging towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay- a new job took a bit of getting used to, but I think I've caught my stride again and can get back to posting every two weeks.


	31. Chapter 31

Everything pretty much hurts, but Tony knows he needs to shake this off– he’s slung over the Hulk’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes (why do you say a sack of potatoes? Who still carries sacks of potatoes, these days? And why potatoes?)– his vision is blurry, and he’s not sure if that’s the knocks his head has taken or the blood that’s run into his eyes from a cut somewhere on his forehead… But anyway, that much green can’t be anything except the Hulk’s back, and that hallway is definitely in the Tower– he knows his own Tower, thanks, he built the damn thing. 

“He’s awake,” says a throaty, female voice that’d be a lot more sexy if it wasn’t so flat. Nat. 

He lifts his head enough to smirk at her where she’s walking behind them.

“Move and I’ll shoot you,” Clint says and steps into his field of vision from the other side. He’s got an arrow nocked to his bow. “Got another couple thousand Volts right here.”

“Listen to Hawkeye,” Nat says.

They don’t want to risk killing him. Well, that’s sweet. Luckily, he has no such compunctions. 

Less luckily, he’s out of ammo, and out of most of his more sophisticated suit controls without the visor. Also, he doesn’t think he can really move yet. His body is a furnace of searing heat as Extremis works to restore him, but most of his nervous system is still over-loaded. 

And then they’re crossing through the living room, and he’s dumped on one of the couches. He catches sight of Roger’s face– pale and drawn and miserable. Tony could take him, if his damn body’d start working again already. And if there wasn’t a big, rough, meaty green paw wrapped around his neck. 

And then Loki steps in front of him, blocks his view. _He_ doesn’t look anything but mildly amused as he crouches down so their faces are at a level. His eyes aren’t nearly as bright as Amora’s, and he’s not nearly as perfect as her, eyes too close together, lips too thin, what the hell was Tony thinking even comparing them?, but he reaches out a hand, and fuck, that sends a bolt of terror through the anger boiling in Tony’s gut. 

Loki’s gonna break the spell. Loki can break the spell. Loki’s gonna take it away and make him go back to being a pathetic doormat, and _trapped_ , so trapped by his own mind, and Tony snarls and jerks, but his hands won’t come up from the cushions and the Hulk’s hand is keeping his head where it is as Loki’s fingers grip his jaw and then the heel of his other hand presses against Tony’s forehead, sweaty strands of hair rasping between their skin. 

And Loki murmurs something, and _pulls_. 

Tony screams, or he tries to, it’s like there’s nails being raked through his brain, it hurts and it’s the most sickening tugging motion and it’s wrong and he can’t get away. 

Green and gold sparks form strings like taffy as Loki pulls his hand away, and then they wink out of existence. 

“Stark?”

Tony stares at Loki blankly for a moment, then leans to the side and throws up. 

JARVIS. God, he was planning to lobotomise JARVIS.

Of all the things he did, this one hits him. Maybe he’s killed innocents today. He’s definitely hurt Nat and Clint and even Wilson. Bruce and Steve, too, in a less direct way. 

But JARVIS… JARVIS can’t defend himself. Not against Tony. JARVIS is _his_ , his creation, his responsibility. And Tony was gonna betray him without even a twitch of remorse. 

He coughs, retches, throat burning. The smell of vomit bites at his nose and throat, together with his own rank odour of sweat and dust and overheated metal. 

“Tony?” That’s Steve. Tony can’t look at him. But he doesn’t have to, ‘cause Loki’s still crouched in front of him, watching him with neutral eyes. 

“Is he...?” Long, blue jeans-wearing legs show up in the corner of his vision. “Tony?” Then Steve leans down too to look at him, and Tony jerks his head back– the Hulk’s let go, though Tony can still feel his mass hovering behind him, can hear the bellows-rumble of his breathing and feel the heat coming off of him. 

“I...” His voice is a choked rasp. “I gotta go shower.”

Shower, yes. Hot water. 

He tries to push up, his armoured hands on the sofa cushions, but he doesn’t get very far. His legs are like lead and the armour feels like it’s crushing him, so he holds out an arm to Loki. “Help me up.”

Loki arches an eyebrow, but rises smoothly to his feet and wraps a hand around Tony’s forearm. Tony’s metal-gloved fingers wrap around the metal shielding Loki’s arm. Somehow, that’s appropriate. 

Loki pulls him up into a precarious stand. “I’ll take him to his rooms,” he tells the others, and then the living room and all those pale, bruised faces disappear, to be replaced with his bedroom. 

He trips the manual release on the armour, staggers out of it and into the bathroom– ignores Loki. Loki can take care of himself. Tony’s got no space in his head right now for Loki. He’s focusing very hard on navigating his way out of his clothes and into the shower. His hands shake, and so do his legs, and he’s clenching his teeth really hard, otherwise they might chatter. He pays really close attention to the veins of silver in the white marble of his counter tops, and the way the bathroom lights reflect off of the glass walls of the shower and the chrome fittings. 

Hot water. Hot water’ll make everything better. He’ll be clean. 

“The usual settings, Sir?” JARVIS asks, and Tony doesn’t flinch. He grinds his teeth, and curls his hands into fists, and keeps his steps steady, and doesn’t flinch. 

“Yeah,” he forces out. 

The water comes on, rich and soft and hot from three shower heads, and Tony steps into it. 

He stands under the shower for a long time, knees locked. Eventually, he scrubs himself clean, gargles and spits with the water hitting his face, until he can’t smell anything but expensive shower gel. After he steps out and brushes his teeth three times, he also can’t taste anything besides a certain numb, minty tingle. 

He tells himself it’s made him feel better.

***

Looking up from her laptop screen full of tables and numbers and cheerily-coloured pie charts to find images of Tony and the Hulk fighting among buildings that look like they’ve been through a war on the TV that’s built into the front wall of her jet’s cabin is an experience Pepper could have done without. She left the news channel on out of habit, muted it so she could get some work done on her way across the Pacific.

Of course she calls Natasha, phone in her hand before the jolt of shock has faded. The familiar stranglehold of worry curls itself around her lungs and stomach, and she forces herself to take deep, steady breaths as the phone rings. Then JARVIS informs her that Natasha can’t come to the phone right now, and Pepper realizes she’s down there somewhere. JARVIS can’t redirect her to Steve, either, since he’s on the phone with the authorities, and Tony… Tony’s blocking all communications. Even her. She knows JARVIS has special parameters for her, that she gets through when he’d block everyone else, but today she’s not getting through, either. 

So all she can do is sit through her landing approach with her eyes on the screen, fingers digging into the leather of her armrests. The reporters are saying something about a theft, about the Tiffany diamond, and this is a mess, she needs to get in touch with the PR people, and with the legal department, but all she manages besides sitting and biting her lip and flinching every time Tony’s armoured form is flung around like a doll is send a text and order a helicopter to take her to the Tower as soon as they’ve landed.

***

She follows the runway through the glass doors into the main room, and finds the Avengers assembled on the couches around another muted TV. The Avengers including the Hulk, that is, and she holds back a shiver. She likes Bruce a lot, but being in a room with his alter ego isn’t the most comfortable of experiences. It makes any room feel crowded, even one as generous as this one, it makes her aware of how fragile she is before that kind of strength and anger.

The air smells faintly rank, of sweat and dust and vomit. There’s one of JARVIS’ cleaning bots humming away on the floor at a corner of a couch. 

The team looks… defeated. Clint’s kneeling next to where Natasha sits, wrapping bright white gauze over the black sleeve of her suit and two pale plastic splints. Sam is sitting hunched over, an arm slung around his ribs. All of them are still in their uniforms, covered in dust, streaked with sweat and blood from nicks and scratches. Thor and Steve are the only clean ones, but Steve looks sicker than all the rest, pale and drawn.

“What happened?” she demands. “Where’s Tony? Is he okay?”

“He’s upstairs,” Steve says. He looks almost guilty, his blue eyes shadowed, but Pepper’s just a little relieved. Tony’s alive. “He’s… he got hit by a spell. He wasn’t really himself.”

She can’t help but dart a look at Clint, whose hands are deft and gentle on Natasha’s arm, and who doesn’t look up, doesn’t acknowledge the conversation. 

“My brother has freed him from the spell,” Thor adds. “However, Friend Tony may need some time to find his way back to himself.”

Steve winces, Natasha raises a cynical eyebrow, and a corner of Clint’s lips lifts in a smile without humour. 

Pepper takes a deep breath, straightens her back. “Well. I better go check on him.” 

She heads to the elevator, a ringing, heavy silence behind her. But they’ll be alright. They’ve come back from a lot of fights bloody and bruised, but they’re all alive, so they’ll pull through.

***

“Tony?” Pepper strides out of the elevator, and… freezes in surprise. Because there, on Tony’s couch, in Tony’s living room, on Tony’s private floor, is Loki, green coattails splashed over Tony’s white couch cushions, long legs sprawled out, heavy black boots on Tony’s cream rug. He’s holding an Xbox controller and is leisurely decimating coloured blocks on a screen.

He looks over at her entrance, and inclines his head. “Miss Potts.”

Loki knows her name. She straightens her shoulders against the hairs rising on her neck. “Loki. Where’s Tony?”

Loki tilts his chin towards the door to Tony’s bedroom. “In the shower.”

Pepper’s not often at a loss for words. But she’s really not sure what to make of this, and she doesn’t know if Loki knows that she knows about him and Tony, and whether he cares if he does, and also she was under the impression that Tony wasn’t exactly in the best of shapes. And, true, Tony’s reaction to a crisis might just be to go have sex, but… 

Thankfully, the bedroom door opens before she has to decide on how to react, and there’s Tony. 

And he looks terrible. 

He’s freshly showered, clearly, a towel around his shoulders and his hair still damp, but there are shadows under his eyes and bruises on his face, on his arms. The look he gives her is opaque, skittish, and the smile he greets her with is an empty curve of lips. He crosses his arms over his chest, tightly, and stands with his feet shoulder-wide apart. 

Loki rises, steps closer to Tony, who’s watching him with narrow eyes and not at all in a friendly way. 

“Would you like me to heal that for you?” Loki asks, reaches out to ghost fingers across the vivid purple along one side of Tony’s jaw. 

Tony stands, tense, but doesn’t flinch from the touch. “What, you’re a healer now?” There’s a sneer and a nasty twist to the words. 

Loki just scoffs. “Hardly. Simple, obvious cuts and bruises I can mend, but that’s about the extend of my ability. However, it’s also all you require.”

“Whatever.” Tony gives a quick, rough shrug. “If you’re feeling so helpful, go fix the others. I’m fine. I got Extremis, I don’t need your help ”

Or anyone’s, his tone says, Pepper notes, even as she wonders how Loki knows about Extremis– and more, how Tony knows Loki knows. 

Clearly, there’s more going on with the two of them than a casual fling. 

Loki tilts his head a little, and steps back. “As you wish.” If he’s at all bothered by the hostility snapping in Tony’s eyes, his stance, his tone, it doesn’t show. He turns his head enough to catch Pepper’s eyes, gives her a suggestion of a nod, and… vanishes. There’s no sound, no puff of smoke, no special effects, he’s just suddenly not there anymore. 

And Pepper’s alone with Tony. 

She knows him. She knows him well enough to know that he’s not alright, not with the way he’s standing, not with the way he moved– tight and jerky, tension coiled in every line of his body. He’s hurting, and he’s using anger to hold himself together. And he’s not going to let anyone in, let anyone close until he feels in control again. If he still could, he’d be drunk within the hour, she knows. Since Extremis has taken that escape away from him, he’ll likely bury himself in the lab for days, until he passes out from sheer exhaustion. 

There’s more reasons than his super-heroing that they’re not a couple anymore. 

“Are you alright?” she asks anyway. Unlike Loki, she can’t just walk away. 

“Fine.” 

She holds his gaze for a moment, but he’s not going to give her anything else. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

He shrugs, pulls a grimace of a smile. “Well, looks like the Hulk and me made a bit of a mess. The Board’ll probably be in a tizzy. And I might need a lawyer or something. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“I’ll take care of it,” she says, because that’s what she does. And if that’s all she can do for him, she will. “Let me know if you need anything else, alright?”

“Sure.” She knows he won’t. 

She wants to hug him, but he’ll shrug her off when he’s like this, and she’ll be better off sparing them both the sting of that. So she nods, and then she, too, leaves him alone.

***

Tony lets out a breath when he’s finally alone, loosens the grip of his fingers on his own biceps enough to ease the ache in his joints. He makes his way over to his bar, every step a fight against the shivers that want to bring him to his knees. An elbow on the bar top helps, and he pulls over his favourite Scotch, splashes it into a glass until it’s full, and downs it.

No, he can’t get drunk off of it. He hadn’t realized until Extremis made him immune how often he wishes he were drunk. Going accidentally cold turkey wasn’t fun, not in the least. And he was dismayed when he realized how addicted he really was to the alcohol, how many of his reasons were just the hollow justifications of a drunk, how much he really wasn’t in control of the habit. 

Right now, he just wishes he could get drunk. 

The familiar taste and burn is still a small comfort, but it’s not nearly enough. 

Work’ll have to do.

***

Tony’s not sure how long he’s been in the workshop. There’s a few empty bottles scattered around, because knowing he can’t get drunk isn’t enough to stop him from trying, today. And if he drinks fast enough, he can manage at least a slight buzz. No one’s bothered him while he’s tried to lose himself in the simple complexity of formulas and designs, so that’s something. He needs a back-up control interface for if someone takes the visor away. Of course, it’s not that the holo-emitters stop working, it’s just that he can’t see the controls well without the darkness of the helmet for contrast, and JARVIS has trouble tracking his eye movements for commands without the cameras in the face plate. So, he needs to do something about that.

And he needs some kind of fucking magic shielding. The arc reactor stopped Loki’s sceptre back then (though it’s not interfered with any other magic so far), he has to look into that, see if there’s a way to adapt that. And he never, ever, needs to snap the faceplate up in a fight ever again. Even if he can’t really see what’s going on with it on, and the cameras aren’t doing the job. 

And he needs more alcohol.

There’s a soft chime at the same time that Loki appears on the other side of the workbench. 

“Here.” 

Tony stares at the bottle Loki sets down on the tabletop, then gives him distrustful eyes. “What’s that?”

“Asgardian mead from the cellars of Odin himself.” He smiles, quick and narrow, trails slender fingertips around the neck of the bottle. It’s not glass. It looks like some sort of earthenware, and there’s no label on it. “The sort of drink to fell the likes of Thor. It ought to prove a challenge even to your Extremis.”

Tony stares at Loki some. Finally, he asks: “Why are you being nice to me?” It’s wrong, Loki being nice– Loki doesn’t _do_ nice. Apparently, Loki agrees, because he gives Tony an affronted look. 

“I am fuelling your addiction. I should hardly call that ‘nice’.”

Tony looks at him for another long moment, then nods and reaches for the bottle. “Okay. Works for me. Thanks anyway.” 

He gives the bottle a sniff, and the fumes make his eyes water in a promising way. He takes a swig, and chokes, coughs a little. 

_Holy_ … It’s like swallowing a sun. A ball of heat radiates out from his stomach, numbs his fingertips and makes his head swim.  
He takes another swig. This is exactly what he needs. Loki leaves him to it, and Tony gets very, very drunk.

***


	32. Chapter 32

Tony’s not sure how much time passes. Everything is numb and hazy and distant, and that’s just how he likes it. At some point, he passes out on his work bench– wakes up, staggers to the bathroom to piss like the proverbial race horse, and his head is absolutely killing him. So he drinks some more of the stuff, rinse, repeat– and then he’s out. He hauls the bottle through a glass partition in frustration. The glass breaks, and then the bottle when it hits the concrete floor on the other side. The satisfaction of the crash and the flying shards is short-lived. Without more poison to fuel his intoxication, Extremis is cleaning up his system way too fast, and consequently, he feels like complete shit.

He goes throw up. 

His throat’s on fire, his head is ready to split, and through it all the reason why he’s doing this is crowding into his head, into his thoughts, no matter how much he tries to think about anything else. 

He drags himself into the shower and scrubs until Extremis is the only reason he’s not raw. Like he can erase her touch and what it did to him if he only tries hard enough. He wants to turn himself inside-out, clean out his arteries and the inside of his skin and his brain. 

And he’s out of alcohol in the workshop. 

By necessity, he slinks his way up to the bar on the common floor. There’s more alcohol there, even if it doesn’t really work. And maybe, possibly, he should really eat something and there could be something in the fridge. (He could, of course, order a meal from his chef, but… he doesn’t question it. He doesn’t want to deal with any staff or anything.) The Avengers, he thinks, he can handle– at least until he actually finds Clint at the kitchen island with a sandwich. Wonders of wonders, though, Clint doesn’t say anything, doesn’t quip, just acknowledges Tony with a feint nod as he comes into the kitchen with his glass and bottle of… something. Tony puts the glass down and fills it up, takes a drink (Irish Whiskey) and walks over to open the fridge. He stares into it for a long moment, but now that he’s looking at food, his stomach twists at the thought of eating. He closes the fridge again, slides onto a barstool across from Clint with his glass and bottle. 

“You want any?”

Clint shakes his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

Tony shrugs. “More for me.” He drains his glass, refills it. 

Clint raises his eyebrows as Tony drinks. “No offence, man, but you don’t seem nearly drunk enough for the way you’re putting that away.”

Right. “What, Nat didn’t tell you?” 

“Didn’t tell me what?”

Tony shrugs. “Took Extremis.”

Clint opens his mouth, shuts it again, and huffs. “No, she didn’t. You’re not gonna, you know…?”

“Blow up?” Tony snorts. “Obviously not. It’s been, like, nine months or something.”

Clint nods, looks at the glass Tony’s topping up once more. “So, is that even still working for you?”

Tony drinks. “No. Not really.”

Clint looks like he’s about to say something, then changes his mind. He scowls a little, an expression too blatant to be real. “So you’re like Cap now. Way to desert us mere mortals, man.”

“Right, ‘cause you’re Mr Ordinary with your magical auto-targeting thing, Birdy.”

“Yeah, well, if the Hulk punches me I still break.”

“So do I,” Tony snaps back, ignores the flicker of contrition in Clint’s eyes when he realizes what he’s said. “I just heal.” He stares into the amber liquid in his glass for a moment before he looks back up. “Speaking of, how’s Nat?” ‘Cause, yeah– she doesn’t heal either. And he broke her arm. Could’ve broken a lot more, a lot more permanently, if Wilson hadn’t reacted as fast as he did. 

And Tony didn’t even stay to watch. 

“She’s fine,” Clint says. “Loki popped back in after he dropped you off and fixed her arm. Wilson’s ribs, too.”

“Huh.” Tony hadn’t really thought he would. He looks at a bloody scrape at Clint’s jaw, the cuts and bruises visible on his bare arms. He doesn’t have to ask why Clint’s still got them. 

“He did that to you. What she… Loki did that to you.”

Clint nods slowly. “Yeah.”

Tony stares at him. “How can you…? How can you stand it? How can you stand being in a room with him?”

Clint shrugs. “It’s necessary.”

Tony’s hand tightens around his glass. “I… I just wanna kill her.”

Clint considers for a moment. “It was… less personal. At least he didn’t make me want to sleep with him.”

“He made you want to kill your friends.” It doesn’t get much more personal than that, as far as Tony’s concerned.

“It… gets easier,” Clint says slowly. “It’s not like you forget, or anything, but you stop thinking about it all the time.”

Tony drains his glass again before he breaks it. “Sure hope you’re right.”

He’s made a serious dent in the Whiskey level in the bottle, and besides a screaming headache and an increasing need to piss it hasn’t had much of an effect. He’s entirely too sober, on the whole. God, he wishes Loki’d show up with another bottle of that Asgardian stuff. Maybe he ought to ask Thor if he has any of that stashed away somewhere. Yeah, that sounds like a plan. Before he can get up, though, Clint rises. 

“When was the last time you had something to eat? Lemme make you a sandwich.”

Alcohol might have lots of energy, but it doesn’t have any of the more specialised building blocks Extremis needs to heal him, and going hand-to-hand with the Hulk did take a lot of healing– Tony’s bones snapped like dry kindling in that fight more than once, never mind all the soft-tissue damage. He really should eat. Also, Clint makes the best sandwiches. 

“Yeah, all right.”

***

He doesn’t ask Thor for a bottle of Asgardian booze– turns out it’s actually the middle of the night, and… it’s a struggle, but Tony’s _not_ enough of an addict, he’s _not_ that pathetic, that he’s gonna wake Thor up to beg for something to make his mind shut up.

Even though he really, really wants to. 

Instead, he heads up to his own floor, with the vague idea that he should really try and get some sleep. He makes it as far as the living room– his armour’s still where he left it, open like the cocoon of a bug after it’s crawled out. He snorts at his own thoughts– hardly a wondrous transformation that’s emerged from this one. It’s scratched and dented all to hell, plating out of alignment, hydraulics compromised, circuits fried. Is that a print from the Hulk’s fingers on the shin piece? He thinks it is. 

He sits on his sofa, tries to come up with the energy to take it down to the workshop and start on it, or to walk past it to the bedroom and sleep, or, hell, to pick up a controller and play a game. Not that he’s much for games. They’re too boring, too predictable, confine him too much in what actions he can take. 

Maybe he should develop his own game. Full VR integration, sophisticated AI… could be fun. 

He’s still sitting there, failing to do anything besides demolishing his bottle of Whiskey, when Loki shows up. 

“Ah. You’re alive.”

Tony raises his eyebrows. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

“I assumed your servant would alert someone if you actually managed to poison yourself to the point of no return. Still.” He shrugs, grins with a bit of teeth. “Accidents happen.”

Tony scowls, sprawls back against the couch. “Sorry to disappoint. Wait, I’m not.”

“Well, _it would’ve_ been rather inconvenient.”

It’s good to know where he ranks in Loki’s scheme of things. 

“Did you want anything, or are you just here to be a nuisance? In that case, tell me you at least brought more of the magical alcohol.”

“That would be truly unwise at this point, I believe,” Loki says, and Tony scowls some more. Damn. Loki stalks a little closer, perches on the arm of the couch. “I came to see if you were in the mood for company.”

Tony blinks, because, _obviously_ not, duh, then he remembers that “company” is Asgard code for sex. Which… 

“I… Sorry, not tonight, okay?” 

And Loki nods in understanding. “Of course.”

But he still doesn’t leave. Just sits there, black leather pants stark against Tony’s white couch, head cocked a little in this way of his– it’s kind of bird-like. His eyes are the same as always– pale, faintly amused, an edge of casual malice lurking there, and around the corners of his mouth. 

He really isn’t as beautiful as Amora. Not objectively. But he’s got that intensity, and that arrogance, and that loose, predatory grace, and when Tony’s brain isn’t scrambled by stupid fucking magic, that’s really a lot more interesting than the perfect proportions of eyes and nose and lips.

He doesn’t comment on the way Tony’s staring at him, doesn’t fidget or look away. 

“You did this to Clint,” Tony eventually says. 

“Yes, I did.” Loki’s eyes are steady, his face calm. 

“You tried to do it to me.”

“Yes.”

And Thanos did it to him. 

Tony doesn’t have to say it. The knowledge lies between them, in a small, uncomfortable silence of understanding. 

“It will get easier,” Loki says eventually. “Not better, as such, but easier to carry on regardless.”

And, “Yeah, that’s what Clint said,” Tony says. Which doesn’t make it better. It doesn’t make it okay. Nothing’s _okay_. Tony contemplates his glass for a moment, then stands, swings and throws it against the wall. He wants to… it’s not _enough_ , that little crash, that little splatter of liquid and glass. The alcohol’s not enough, work isn’t enough, he wants to jump into a suit and blast off, fly until everything’s a blur and warnings scream at him. Only he thinks he’d probably blow up something if he did, right now. 

“Would you like to spar?” 

Tony looks at Loki. “I… don’t have another suit to spare.” Between everything that’s been going on, he hasn’t had as much time to devote to suit building as usual. 

“We can fight without weapons. I can pull my punches.”

It’s really tempting. “Are you offering to be my punching bag?”

Loki shrugs, smirks a little. “You cannot hurt me– much.”

And, no, bare-handed? Tony can’t. “Yeah, okay.”

***

Steve has to admit he’s a little surprised when he wanders into the gym at five in the morning and finds it occupied. He’s a lot more surprised that it’s occupied by Tony and Loki, of all people.

Also, Nat’s perched on the metal railing that runs in front of the glass wall that separates the entry area with the showers and lockers from the gym proper. Steve walks up to her, leans his crossed arms on the railing next to her. 

“Have they been at this long?”

Nat shrugs. “Since before I got here– which was about half an hour ago.”

Tony throws a punch, which Loki blocks, follows it up with a kick that Loki side-steps easily. Loki’s lost the armour and the coat, so he’s in some loose green tunic thing, black leather wound around his forearms, and his leather pants. No boots, either, his feet pale on the grey mats covering the gym floor. It’s very strange, seeing Loki in anything but his usual outfit. Tony, for his part, is wearing sweats and a t-shirt– which is showing large, dark stains, clinging to him. His hair’s sticking to his flushed face, too. 

Steve looks back at Nat, raises his eyebrows in silent question. She only gives him one of her inscrutable looks– not willing to talk about what’s brought her down here at half past four in the morning. But Steve can guess, anyway. He turns his head away from her again to watch the match in the gym. Despite her frequent and obvious exasperation with Tony, Nat has an odd soft spot for him, something almost protective. 

Behind the glass wall, Tony and Loki keep fighting– only Loki’s not really fighting as such. He’s just turning all of Tony’s attacks aside with almost insulting ease. 

Steve’s not sure what to make of it. Clearly, this isn’t an _actual_ fight. They’re in the _gym_ , after all. And certainly not even Tony is reckless or arrogant enough to go against Loki with his bare hands if he expected to actually need to defend himself. And that’s kind of it, isn’t it? Obviously, Tony doesn’t expect to need to defend himself. He’s put himself into a room with Loki, into a situation full of aggression, and he’s trusting Loki not to break him. 

Now, Tony might not be thinking very clearly at the moment, but still. Steve knows about fighting. He knows how the rush, the heat of the moment can carry you away, and all it’d take would be one unlucky punch from Loki. It wouldn’t even need to be on purpose, just bad aim, or bad timing. Tony knows that as well as he does, so being right here, like this? That says he trusts that that won’t happen. Trusts Loki– with his life, to a certain degree. 

And Steve wonders what he’s missed, what happened in the last six weeks since Tony and Thor showed up to talk to him in Eastern Europe about this insanity. 

And it’s not just Tony. Here’s Nat, watching Loki spar with a team member placidly. Oh, he has no doubt she’s got weapons hidden away in her jeans and sweater outfit. Should anything happen, she’ll be in there as fast as humanly possible– or a little faster. But the set of her shoulders, the way she’s idly swinging one foot, say she’s not expecting anything to happen. 

Clint’s willing to be in a room with Loki. Even the Hulk only gave Loki a menacing stare and cracked his knuckles when Loki popped in the other day to heal Nat’s arm and Sam’s ribs. 

No, whatever Loki’s done in the past month or so, it’s been enough to earn him a truce with the team. 

And Steve himself is hardly different, is he? Here he is, watching, his first instinct to wait and see rather than to get in there and protect Tony. 

Not that Tony looks like he’s in any mood to be protected. With sweat stains spreading on his shirt and glistening on his skin, he keeps coming back, keeps climbing to his feet, no matter how often Loki evades or blocks. And as he watches Tony attack, again and again, with eyes narrowed and teeth clenched, and then eventually with a bellow of frustration, Steve realizes something: Behind that mad genius act, behind the inappropriate humour and the blithe recklessness, Tony hides a world of anger. 

At what, Steve doesn’t know– he’s got everything, doesn’t he? But, no, that’s an uncharitable thought. He’s sure Tony has his reasons, his hurts. He just never realized that this _rage_ is what Tony was masking. 

In hindsight, he wonders how he didn’t. It makes sense, doesn’t it? Isn’t everything Tony does an act of defiance?

Just like he is now, throwing himself against Loki again and again. Steve admits it’s downright frightening– the sheer irrationality of it. Objectively, Tony is laughably outmatched in just about every way. Loki’s much stronger, much faster, and much, much more durable Not to mention, Steve suspects, much more skilled than Tony. He’s had centuries of practise, after all, and it shows in the way he swats Tony’s attacks aside like they’re hardly worth his notice. 

None of this stops Tony. 

Kind of like he fought the Hulk. Yes, he had the suit, then, but he threw himself into that fight with the same reckless abandon. 

Speaking of which… Steve glances at Nat, then back into the gym. Tony’s panting, scrubs an arm roughly over his face. Then he snarls, and charges again, with a wordless shout of rage. 

“He shouldn’t still be standing,” Steve observes. Loki might not actually be fighting back as such, but Tony’s still taking bruises from when he’s blocked, or when he overbalances and falls, with the occasional shove from Loki helping him along. Steve’s under no illusion as to what Tony’s put his body through in the last three days since Amora’s spell– he can smell the stale reek of alcohol from here. And, of course, there’s the damage he took in the fight. Steve frowns a bit, blinks. Didn’t he have a pretty big bruise on his jaw? There’s none, now. There isn’t even stubble. The one thing that’s as sharp as ever about him is Tony’s beard.

“Oh, right,” Nat says, and Steve looks at her again. She meets his eyes, tilts her head a little in Tony’s direction. “He took Extremis.”

“What?” Steve darts his eyes between Tony and her, then swears. “Of all the…! When?! And you knew? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Nat rolls her eyes at him. “Sometime last autumn. I only found out a few weeks ago.” She shrugs. “He says he fixed it. And since he hasn’t blown up yet...”

Steve runs a hand across his mouth. “Christ. So what does that mean?”

Nat gives him the run-down, and Steve realizes something else. “Loki knew.”

“What?”

“Loki knew. On Tuesday. He told me we needed the Hulk, before you did. He knows about Extremis.”

Nat tilts her head, stares into the gym with a calculating look. “I wonder...” Steve raises his eyebrows in question, but she shakes her head. “Never mind.” 

If Nat wonders about it, Steve _definitely_ minds, but he knows he can’t make her tell him. But, damn it, he needs to know these things! He needs to know what his team’s capable of– how dangerous they are. He could’ve gotten someone killed Tuesday by underestimating Tony. 

And he did underestimate him. This, what Tony’s doing in the gym right now, throwing himself against Loki like that, Steve didn’t know he was capable of that. 

“God dammit, Loki!” Tony shouts. “Will you fucking _fight_ me, you fucking jerk?”

Steve can see Loki’s eyebrows rising in amusement, the smirk on his face as he circles to the side, casual and relaxed in comparison to Tony’s heaving shoulders and clenched fists. 

“Are you done being silly, then?”

“What the _fuck_?!”

“Apparently not.” Loki stops his circling, crosses his arms. “I will fight you, my dear Avenger, when you take this seriously. You know as well as I do that all this furious charging about is pointless. You have no form, no balance, no plan. Now, if you feel the need to waste your time and energy, please, be my guest. But if you want to _fight_ , I expect better from you.”

“What the…? Oh, you fucking condescending asshole! You’re the one who offered to spar!”

“This,” Loki waves a disdainful hand between the two of them. “does not deserve the term ‘sparring’.”

That’s the point when Clint joins Steve and Nat. “What the hell’s going on down here? What’d I miss?”

“Apparently, Tony’s sparring with Loki,” Nat informs him. 

Clint blinks. “Is he fucking retarded?”

Nat shrugs. “So far, Loki’s not really done a whole lot except trip him up.”

“Damn. Now I wish I’d brought popcorn.”

In the gym, Tony’s shoulders straighten, and he snarls: “ _Fine_!”

His fists come up again, but this time, one leg slides backwards, his knees bend a little to lower his centre of gravity, and instead of just charging, he starts to circle Loki. Loki tilts his head like a curious bird, unfolds his arms to drop his hands to his sides– no fists, no guard, but ready. 

When Tony closes, it’s with a lot more deliberation than before. Loki still side-steps with insulting ease, but since he’s not in a head-long rush this time, Tony adjusts, follows, and Loki’s eyebrows rise again, his teeth flash in a grin, and then they’re _actually_ sparring. 

Loki’s clearly holding back, but even so Steve winces at a couple of the hits Tony takes– always an open palm or a backhand, but Tony’s head still snaps to the side the first time Loki’s hand connects with his jaw. Tony, though, bares his teeth, steps lightly, good footwork, feints high, feints low and… smashes his head into Loki’s chin. Loki staggers back, laughs, wipes a spot of red off of his lip. 

“Better,” he says approvingly, “much bettter.”

By half six, Thor and Sam’ve joined them, and Steve kind of agrees with Clint’s assessment: Popcorn would’ve been a good idea. He doesn’t think Tony’s noticed the audience yet, too focused on his match with Loki. And it is a match now. Not one Tony can win, of course, but he’s connecting hits now, and Loki’s not giving him those, either. By the way he grunts and staggers back, Loki’s actually feeling those– and that’s really fucking impressive. 

Tony over-extends, and Loki smacks Tony’s fist down with a palm, and as he whirls to the side, grabs the back of Tony’s shirt and sweeps his feet out from under him at the same time. Tony goes tumbling to the mats once more, and Thor chuckles. 

“Ah, I remember this– he used to do this to Fenrir when he did not mind his balance.”

“Uh. Fenrir?” Steve asks. That sounds kinda familiar. Something about a big wolf that eats the sun and ends the world?

“My brother’s son,” Thor says blithely.

Everyone’s looking at Thor now, and even Nat blinks. 

“Loki has a son?” Steve feels compelled to ask. 

Thor gives him a puzzled look. “He has three, and a daughter. Are you not aware of this? Some of your tales of us name them, I believe.”

“Well...” Steve says. “It’s a bit hard to tell what’s real and what’s not with those, you know. I mean, they also say Loki had a thing with a horse.” 

Thor… smirks. And so does Nat, actually, and Clint’s ducking his head with something that’s definitely a grin. 

“What?”

“That one’s true,” Clint says. 

Steve opens his mouth, isn’t sure what to say, and looks at Nat for help. She nods. “Tony. Asked, the first meeting we had with Loki. Thor said it was real.”

“You’re… kidding. Right? Come on, guys, you’re having me on.”

Clint snickers. “Cross my heart, Rogers, according to what these two say,” he gestures at Thor and towards Loki in the gym, “that one really happened.” He blinks. “Wait a second. Does that mean one of his kids is a _horse_?”

To Steve’s horror, Thor nods. “Sleipnir, his oldest. Yes.”

Clint pulls a face. “Oh, ewwww.”

Thor frowns. “I’ll thank you not to insult my nephew, my friend.”

“Your nephew, who’s a horse,” Clint clarifies, and Thor nods decidedly. 

“Hardly an ordinary horse, obviously. While not gifted with speech like you and I, Sleipnir is an intelligent, sentient creature.”

Steve’s not sure if that makes anything better. He’s kind of gotten used to how weird his life has gotten ever since he woke up in the future. After all, he fought super-powered Nazis before he went under, he can cope. Or so he tells himself, when he’s dealing with aliens and magic and technology that might as well be alien, too, for how very far away it is from what he grew up with, what he would’ve expected to be possible in seventy years. 

He’s not sure he’s adequately prepared to deal with someone _actually_ having a kid with a horse. Even if that someone is Loki. 

Loki, meanwhile, dodges a punch, side-steps, and smacks the back of Tony’s neck with a palm. 

“Your guard is appalling.”

Tony whirls, claps a hand to his neck, and glares. “I’m aware you’re fucking faster than me, okay?!”

“That’s no reason to make it _that_ easy for me,” Loki shoots back. “Here, come at me again. This time, keep your front to me while you recover.”

Wait. Steve blinks, thinks back to Thor’s initial comment, leans towards him. “Is he _teaching_ Tony?”

Thor gives him a puzzled look. “Of course. Why do you look so surprised?”

“Well, it’s not like they’re _friends_ ,” Steve points out. Why would Loki give away a potential advantage against someone who might easily be his enemy again some time soon?

“I am not sure,” Thor says slowly, contemplates the two men in the gym. “Loki does not give away his time where he believes it to be wasted. He must, at least, find Stark interesting.”

Nat snorts. “Well, Tony is that, if nothing else.”

“I’ll say,” Sam mumbles, and Clint grins. Steve takes a deep breath, and feels something in his chest loosen. They’re joking again– not always kind, but then they often aren’t. Especially Tony, Clint and Nat– they have too many sharp edges to always fit together without cutting each other just a little. But, Steve has learned in the past two years, that’s alright. It’s how they communicate, as a team, with quips and jabs and wise-cracks, because they face some pretty terrifying things, and sometimes the only way to cope is humour and bravado. 

Steve’s not always sure he fits in, he’s not always sure how this team can possibly work, but then Tony gives him mountains of money to search for Bucky without being asked, or Nat offers to set him up on a date he’s not interested in, or they all storm a Hydra bunker in Russia to get him out, and he knows that somehow, he _is_ part of this, and they do work, and it’s a damn good feeling.

It takes Tony the better part of another hour to run out of energy, and notice his audience. He stares at them over the lip of his bottle of water, wide-eyed. 

“What the fuck?! Since when have you all been here?”

“Oh, merely for the past two hours or so,” Loki informs him with a smirk. 

Tony glares, curses, drinks down half the bottle and then throws it at Loki’s head (who snatches it out of the air easily, of course).

“Whatever! I’m going.” He marches out of the gym in a cloud of sweat and stale booze– Steve can smell the toxins he’s sweating out, but one look at Tony’s thunderous face keeps him from saying anything. He wants to offer his help, he does, but it’s clear that this isn’t the time. They’ll be okay, the team’ll be okay, but Tony needs more time. Considering what happened, Steve doesn’t begrudge him that, even if he wishes Tony had healthier coping methods than drinking and working until he drops. At least Loki got him out of the workshop, maybe got him sobered up a little. Though, come to think of it… does Extremis mean Tony’s similarly immune to alcohol as Steve himself? Because that… that would be really hard on him. 

It’s not the time to ask, anyway. Tony vanishes into the elevator, and Loki saunters out of gym, sipping from Tony’s water bottle.

He gives them all a nod, indicates the gym. “All yours. If you’ll excuse me.” And he vanishes. Steve’s not sure he’ll ever get used to that.

***


	33. Chapter 33

Tony finally admits he’s absolutely rank, and heads up to his floor before he returns to the workshop. And he’s aware, thank you, that it’s a sign of improvement that he cares about that again. Damn Loki, anyway. He’s sore in so many places, bruised, muscles burning with exhaustion. 

He’s also aware he should get some sleep at some point, but… No. Definitely not. The thought of lying in his bed, in the quiet, alone with his thoughts, sends a shiver down his back. No. He’ll take a shower, grab a bottle or two from his rainy-day stash up here, and see if he can’t get some actual work done. 

So he’s staring at reams of alien data read-out, not nearly drunk enough and wondering where to even start to make sense of it, when Loki shows up again. Having him announced with that little chime was really one of Tony’s more brilliant ideas. Somehow, just the fact that he isn’t just _there_ makes all the difference. 

He parks his leather-clad ass against the edge of Tony’s workbench, crosses his ankles, and surveys Tony and the data. 

“Progress, I see,” he says. 

Tony narrows his eyes, because there’s no reason for him to sound so surprised. “Yeah, well, I’m amazing that way. Of course, you realize there is no way for me to actually translate this without some kind of reference.”

“Certainly. I’ll provide you with a sample large enough to extrapolate.” He tilts his head. “Are you determined to spend the night here, then?”

“Why?”

Loki sweeps his eyes over Tony, smirks. “There are ever so much more comfortable places. Your bed, say.”

Tony’s not okay. He’s not fine. His breathing’s still flat, his heart beating too fast, he still only has the thinnest veneer over the urge to scream and punch and destroy. But Loki propositioning him doesn’t make his skin crawl anymore, at least. 

He even manages a half-way credible smirk of his own. “Can’t get enough of me, huh?”

Loki does that affected pout of his. “Well, we were so rudely interrupted.”

It’s a bad idea. Tony’s pretty sure it’s a bad idea– as usual. 

“Yeah, okay.”

Loki’s teeth flash, sharp and white and wicked, and he holds out a hand. Tony reaches past it, closes his fingers over the cold metal edges of Loki’s vambraces, the leather underneath against his palm while Loki’s fingers curl strong and sure around his own arm. Loki pulls him up from his chair and into his body, slings his free arm around Tony’s waist, tilts his head down to run his lips over Tony’s cheek. His breath is warm against Tony’s face, his scent already familiar– leather, mostly, and a touch of something herbal clinging to his skin and clothes.

***

Loki teleports them, then lets go of Tony to cup a hand around his face instead, kisses him. He gives a pleased moan as he does, nudges Tony’s mouth open with his lips at once, follows up with tongue– dirty, eager, and Tony… Yeah, Tony needs that. The simplicity of it, the warm pressure of skin against his, wet suction and the taste of Loki’s mouth.

Loki tumbles them onto the bed, gets his hands under Tony’s t-shirt and only stops the kiss to pull it over Tony’s head. Then he’s back, lips against Tony’s jaw and neck, his hair tickling Tony’s shoulder as he licks a nipple. Meanwhile, Tony’s pulling apart latches and buckles, drags the coat and layers of armour and leather off of him. Loki sits up long enough to get rid of the chest plate and the padding under his vambraces, then sets his mouth against the arc reactor while Tony shoves his own hands under the green tunic, against his skin. He hasn’t appreciated before how soft the fabric is, how rich, like a cross of silk and wool and fleece, but Loki’s skin is just as smooth as he remembers. 

Loki lifts his head again, braced on his hands either side of Tony’s chest as Tony pulls the tunic over his head. It messes up his hair, strands falling forward into his face. Loki swipes them back with a hand, grins. 

He’s pretty damn gorgeous. And dangerous, and powerful, and… 

“Can I top?” Tony’s hardening cock surges at the thought. 

And Loki… just grins a little wider, razor sharp and wicked, and says: “Certainly.” He rolls to the side, onto his back, and strips off his pants without ceremony. He’s plenty hard already, and the sight of those long, pale legs makes Tony’s breath come faster. 

So he sits up as well, braces himself on one hand, and thumbs his fly open. He kicks off his jeans while Loki folds his hands behind his head and just lies there, sprawled out and smug, and watches him. 

Tony climbs over him so he’s the one braced on all fours above Loki, and takes a moment just to look. 

He has Loki under him, strong, lean, male Loki, the man who ripped the sky apart and tried to do this thing to him. He leans down and kisses him hard, nips at his lips, shifts back and digs his hands into his hips. 

He scrapes his teeth along Loki’s jaw, bites at his neck and shoulders and chest, strokes his stomach and rakes his fingernails down over it. 

His breath is fast, his cock hard, and the violence is still there. 

He wants to bite and bruise and fuck. 

Loki arches a little when Tony digs his nails into his side, moans when his teeth close over a nipple. 

He’s taking it out on Loki, he knows that, and usually he wouldn’t take this out on any lover, no matter how casual. Loki, though, just smirks and takes the abuse with laughter in his eyes. 

Tony shudders a little, because it’s so seductive, not holding back, not taking care. 

Loki makes a sinuous little movement, hips and torso and shoulders, like a cat in a beam of sunlight, hums. Tony looks up, finds Loki’s eyes dark and heavy-lidded, one corner of his lips curled in a smirk. His hair spills black across the pale skin of his wrists. Then he bends his knees, spreads his legs wide. 

“Go on. Fuck me.”

Tony thinks of tearing into him, ripping him apart, just grabbing that ass offered to him and shove in, no preparation or anything, and grits his teeth against a moan. He’s not that far gone, and it’s a stupid fantasy anyway– without lube that’ll hurt him about as much as it’ll hurt Loki. 

Lube, yeah. They need that. Ideally before he does something he’ll regret (and Loki’ll break his neck for– just a thought.) “Lube,” he grinds out. 

Loki flicks his eyes down Tony’s body, and just like that, he feels a cool, slick touch on his cock. He shivers, his hips twitch involuntarily, and he does reach down for Loki’s ass. 

Loki finally deigns to pull his hands out from under his head again, runs them over Tony’s flanks and his back, strong and warm, then down to grope his ass in turn, fingertips dipping into the crease to stroke intimate skin, press lightly just behind his balls.

Tony moans, muffles it against Loki’s shoulder, and sends his own fingers exploring. 

Loki’s lubed up that part of his own anatomy, too, and maybe sometimes magic is pretty awesome. 

“Never mind,” Loki says when Tony presses forward with a slow fingertip. “Just take me.”

That does make Tony look up again, catch his eyes. “That could… That’ll hurt,” he admits. “I’m not… I can’t...” Go slow, be careful, be kind. 

Loki’s teeth flash in a grin, white and challenging. “Do your worst. Remember– you can’t harm me.”

Tony’s not missing the fact that Loki said ‘harm’, not ‘hurt’, but he’s never been any good at turning down something he wants when someone offers it to him. 

And Loki’s offering: hips tilted up obligingly, fingertips trailing up over Tony’s tail bone into the small of his back, eyes heavy and that beautiful bottom lip plump and flushed– Tony leans up to bite it, lick it, kiss Loki, and then he sits back again and lines himself up. If he wasn’t kneeling, his legs would shake with excitement, and his hands feel thick and clumsy.

He’s slick, Loki’s slick, and he pushes forward against the resistance of Loki’s body. 

It’s a hell of a lot of resistance. Super-strength, yes, all muscles of the body. Loki’s not fighting him (if he were, Tony wouldn’t be getting anywhere, that much is certain,) he’s pushing back to open himself up, but his body still grips Tony like a vice, tight enough to be just on the wrong side of pain– Tony welcomes it, because today the wrong side of pain is the right side. 

He’s keeping an eye on Loki’s face, sees the corners of his eyes tighten, his lips thin, sees the slight grimace as Tony pushes in past the head. 

It makes heat flare through him, a gloating rush of power, and yeah– he’s not a good person. He has the urge to bear down harder just to see Loki hurt. It’s trembling in his spine, has his breath choppy, makes his lips tingle. But he squashes it, forces himself to stop– or is about to, but Loki must’ve felt it in his body, because his hand goes to Tony’s ass and he slings a leg around Tony’s hips, calf against his back, and pulls him in, into that tight clinging heat even while his eyes narrow, even while a muscle in his jaw jumps as he clenches his teeth. Tony shivers, makes a strangled sound that’s a groan and a whimper and more animal than human. Loki doesn’t say anything, but his eyes, locked on Tony’s, are a dare. 

So Tony keeps going, starts rocking his hips, tries to remember to keep it shallow at first, but Loki picks up the rhythm, pushes up to meet him on every stroke, until things get slicker and looser and both of their breathing is rasping in their throats. That first real thrust when Tony can bottom out, his hips tight against that lovely ass, makes him moan. Loki echoes the sound, pushes into it, his long legs spread wide for Tony. He drags his teeth over his bottom lip when he sees Tony’s watching, and writhes a little, in that long, sinuous motion he does so well. Tony sinks his hands into the muscle of Loki’s waist and fucks him, hard. 

It’s not pretty. He’s grunting with the impact of his thrusts, there’s sweat sticking his hair to his temples and tickling in his beard on his upper lip, he has his teeth clenched and his grip is too tight. 

Loki eats it up. He spreads his legs even wider, heels digging into the bedding to keep himself in place, back curved to give Tony the best angle at his ass, a hand braced against the headboard over his head and a fistful of sheet in the other. There’s sweat glistening on his pale skin, too, his hair’s getting wrecked all to hell, and he’s moaning and gasping, enjoys the hell out of it, goads Tony on with heavy-lidded looks and half-smirks. 

He’s hot and slick and tight around Tony, and heavy enough every impact shivers through Tony’s body, and he’s not at all fragile, not physically breakable or emotionally vulnerable, and he’s got no shame. He doesn’t want anything from Tony except this, except sex, raw physical fucking, doesn’t expect anything. Tony doesn’t have to be anyone he isn’t, right now, right here. He doesn’t have to be nice, or good, or kind, or careful. 

He’s brutal and cruel and base, and Loki just laughs, just pushes up for a moment to wrap a hand around the back of Tony’s head to kiss him. Tony kisses, and bites, and Loki moans and shivers a little. When he lies back down, he throws his head back, offers Tony miles of flawless silky skin to mar. 

And Tony does. He fucks and growls and digs his fingers in too hard and watches the bruises bloom and fade. 

Loki likes it. Loki’s vocal and hard as a rock, and when Tony wraps a hand around his cock and starts jerking him off, too harsh and too tight and too rough, he likes that, too. He comes with Tony’s thumb nail scraping down the underside of his cock, Tony’s hand sticky with precome. He clenches hard around Tony as he does, and Tony’s so focussed on the violence, his orgasm hits him between the eyes and sweeps through him so hard he shakes with it and his toes curl and every hair on his body stands on end.

When it’s over, Tony finds himself braced over Loki on his arms, blinking and breathing hard. He’s stunned, blank, and the only thought that occurs to him is that Loki’s really pretty when he’s sprawled out under him in a fucked-out mess. 

Loki grins, smug and satisfied as can be, like _he’s_ the one who just got exactly what he wanted, and reaches up– reaches up and ruffles Tony’s hair. Tony blinks again. He gives up thinking, pulls out carefully instead and slumps to the bed. He rolls onto his back, at a bit of an angle to Loki, their legs kind of tangled, and stares up at the ceiling. His breathing slows after a few minutes, and his mind is still blank. It’s kind of peaceful. 

Then Loki shifts, and Tony turns his head to see him pushing up onto an elbow. He’s still grinning– or probably again. He rolls until he can crawl on top of Tony, and dips his head to kiss him. He’s warm, his legs against Tony’s, the heat radiating from his torso, and Tony realizes he’s gotten a little chilled, naked and sweaty as he is. Loki’s heat feels good, and the kiss is nice, deep and wet and leisurely, Loki’s tongue exploring his mouth, stroking against his. 

It’s a long kiss, and by the time Loki pulls back, Tony’s has to catch his breath again, feels a trickle of heat through his limbs, stirring his cock. Loki rolls his hips down, into Tony’s, and Tony feels Loki’s cock against the top of his thigh, hot and hard again already. Loki’s pupils are wide and dark as he looks down at Tony. He pecks him on the lips, runs his thumb over the side of Tony’s beard, and pushes up a bit on one elbow– fits his other hand around Tony’s throat. His fingers are warm, a little damp, or maybe that’s Tony, and he strokes the corner of Tony’s jaw with his thumb. 

Tony furrows his eyebrows in silent question. 

Loki leans in, brushes his lips against Tony’s cheek. 

“My turn.” His voice is low and smoky, his breath puffs warm against Tony’s earlobe, and he tightens his fingers just a little. 

Tony shivers. A second ago, he would’ve said (if he could scrape enough of his brain together) that, after the way he’s just topped, after the last few days, with the way he’s feeling– he would’ve said he wasn’t in the mood for Loki to take over. 

Now that Loki says it, though, it’s actually a really good idea. More sex, yes. He wants more sex. But he really doesn’t want to go and find his brain again, really doesn’t want to have to bring it back online, so Loki taking charge– yeah, that works. 

He tilts his chin up a little in agreement, and Loki likes that– he sees the pupils expand to swallow the last bit of green, sees the way Loki’s lips part. Then he kisses Tony again while he shifts, gets his knees between Tony’s legs, and then his other hand cups Tony’s balls. Tony groans, arches up. Loki’s fingers go exploring along his ass, firm and proprietary, and when he starts pushing the first into Tony it’s slick and easy– more magic lube. 

Loki kisses his jaw, licks Tony’s beard, his tongue a rasp against the grain of the hair, makes his way down to Tony’s neck while the push and pull of his finger in Tony’s ass makes him pant, sends blood to his hardening cock. He moans, slings a leg around Loki’s hips, and Loki’s other hand is still around his throat, not squeezing but tight, strong– a flex of Loki’s fingers and he’d crush Tony’s airway. His lips are against the side of Tony’s neck, too, below his thumb. 

If he decided to kill Tony, no way could he react in time. Tony makes a needy sound, hitches his leg up higher around Loki’s waist to give him better access. He gets another finger up his ass as a reward, thrusting sharp and precise just on the right spot. Tony groans and arches under Loki, clutches at his shoulders and then digs a hand into his long hair, pulls. Loki tightens the fingers on his throat enough to make breathing hard, and leans up to kiss him again. Tony has to gasp for breath, can’t close his mouth to Loki’s lips and tongue, but he can bite, and he does, and Loki moans and kisses him harder. He only lets up when Tony’s starting to get a little dizzy, when he starts to struggle a bit. Then he loosens his grip on Tony’s throat and pulls his mouth away, and Tony gasps in deep breaths. 

He’s, well, not forgotten about Loki’s fingers in his ass, but they were more of a hot background burn. But now Loki pulls them out, adjusts the way he’s kneeling between Tony’s legs a bit, and lines his cock up. Pushing in, he’s a lot bigger than his fingers were, the stretch almost brutal– almost, but not quite. Instead, it’s just right, makes Tony moan and tighten his leg around Loki’s back, reach for him, clutch at his arm. Loki wraps his free hand around Tony’s thigh to keep him in place, squeezes his fingers around Tony’s throat, and fucks him. 

He’s watching him as he does, eyes dark and smug, a faint smirk on his lips, and Tony reaches down and grabs his thighs, digs unfriendly fingers deep into the hard, flexing flesh. Loki chuckles a little, a breathless sound that’s half a groan, and snaps his hips sharply. 

Tony cries out with it, until Loki cuts off his air, chokes while Loki’s thrusts rock through his body, send sparks up his spine. He claws at Loki, punishes him and pulls him in at the same time, until Loki lets up again and he can heave in deep, rasping breaths, and moan, because Loki’s pretty much at the perfect angle, his grip on Tony’s thigh making sure he stays there, too. 

And that’s how it goes, Loki choking him for long moments at a time until Tony’s throat aches and burns, while Tony squirms and claws at him, half fighting him and half pulling him closer, and all the while Loki fucks him deep and relentless, until Tony comes, shaking and helpless. Loki moans with it, and then, when Tony’s done and slumps with all his limbs suddenly heavy as lead, Loki takes his hand away from his throat and his thigh, braces both of them above Tony’s shoulders, and finishes himself off. 

Tony just about manages to hook his legs behind Loki’s back so his ass stays where Loki needs it, and stares up at him as he does. Loki’s eyes are half-closed, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed, and curls of black hair are tangling around his face. He’s… Focussed on his own pleasure, Tony’s pretty sure he’s seeing the _real_ Loki, that there aren’t any masks to him like this. He’s a man, getting off, chasing orgasm with the thrusts of his hips, and that’s something so simple, so basic. It’s something so familiar, Tony knows exactly what that feels like, and so would most people. 

He has no idea what to make of that observation, whether there’s even anything to make of about it, but he does flex his insides encouragingly around Loki’s cock, and it doesn’t take much for Loki to come with a deep groan of satisfaction.

***

“Do you want me to leave?” Loki asks after he’s rolled off and they’ve lain next to each other on their backs for a while and have caught their breath.

Tony thinks about it for a moment, then waves a hand. “Naw. It’s fine.”

It is, oddly. How Loki’s presence went to from threatening to reassuring, Tony doesn’t know, but right now… Yeah, right now he’ll take the guy who broke the spell and fixed him over the chick who screwed with his head. 

They find the sheet somewhere and sort themselves the right way up in the bed. Loki tosses his hair over a shoulder and swipes it out of his face, then settles down on his back. He turns his head a little to look at Tony, reaches out and trails fingers through his hair. Tony cracks a huge yawn, and the pillow is soft against the side of his face, and Loki’s fingers are warm, and then he’s asleep.

***

When he wakes up some time in the middle of the night, Loki’s gone, though his side of the bed is still warm. Tony staggers his way into the bathroom and through a quick shower, because he’s gross. He scrubs sweat and spunk off of himself, brushes his teeth, and crawls back between his warm, filthy sheets.

He wakes up in the morning, entirely sober and clear-headed for the first time in four days. 

Well. What do you know. Apparently having nasty power-trippy sex with Loki actually works better than drinking in burning the anger out of his system. 

Which means, yeah, it’s time to get over himself and act like an adult. He gets dressed, squares his shoulders, and heads into the elevator. A minute later, he struts into the kitchen like he owns the place– which, y’know, he does.

***


	34. Chapter 34

The kitchen, it turns out, is Avengers Central this morning. 

“Well, look what the cat dragged in!” Clint jeers when Tony enters, and Tony gives him a baleful look. 

“Not looking so hot yourself, bird brain.” It’s true– everyone’s looking a little rough around the edges, a little too pale, shadows under their eyes. Clint especially– his bruises have reached the stage where they’re a sickly yellow-green. And Cap has the blue puppy-dog eyes going full force– he’s looking so damn sincere Tony wants to punch him. Now, he likes Cap, he does, he’s long gotten over his initial impression (or maybe prejudice), and most days even he can appreciate that Steve’s just a hell of a nice guy. 

Today’s not most days. Today he’s better, but still raw, and that makes him vicious. 

“Hey, Tony,” Steve says, and smiles, and rises to fetch a plate. “Breakfast?” 

Yeah, so fucking nice. And, god, that hopeful look– if they ever all get turned into animals (Tony’s so not ruling it out) Cap’s gonna be a Golden Retriever. And, okay– Tony feels some of the residual anger crack, finds himself with a reluctant half-smile. So _damn_ nice. 

“Yeah, sure, breakfast sounds good. Feed the genius. I’m starving.”

Nat rolls her eyes, Clint makes a face, and Bruce gives a snort from behind the tablet he’s reading. Thor smacks a hand on the table that makes the cutlery jump, and declares: “I say, Captain! Our friend needs sustenance!”

“Yep, sustenance, that’s me,” Tony agrees, and it’s good to be home.

***

That’s pretty much how the rest of the day is– weirdly domestic. They have a bit of a team training session down in the gym, because someone told Cap about Extremis, and so he’s hell-bent on finding out for himself what Tony’s capable of. That kind of devolves into a free-for-all (well, except for Bruce, who referees). Of course, Thor wins, and Tony’s still loudly protesting how totally unfair that is when they troop back upstairs for lunch. They all eat enough to feed a small army, and then Tony drifts over to the couches with the vague idea of watching a movie or something. Only there’s a laptop on the coffee table, one he doesn’t know.

“Hey, whose is this?” he demands, because he’s the one who supplies the hardware around here. He lifts the lid, catches sight of a facebook page. 

“Mine,” says a voice from behind him, and a pale slender hand he’s rather intimately familiar with pushes the lid closed again and picks it up. Tony looks up at Loki over his shoulder, blinks. 

“Oh. You’re still here.”

Loki gives him mocking eyebrows as he seats himself at one corner of the couch, crosses an ankle over a knee, and balances the laptop over his thighs. “Evidently.”

“Crapola, you really do have a facebook page!” Clint exclaims, as he comes up behind the couch and catches sight of the screen as Loki opens the lid. He’s keeping a respectable few feet of distance from Loki, but he doesn’t seem especially bothered otherwise. Loki turns enough to give him a look of fake innocence. 

“Would you like me to send you a friend request?” he asks with mock gravity, and Clint… pulls a face. 

“Ew, no, that’s just creepy! I’m not being facebook friends with you!”

“I believe I am now required to be distraught by your rejection.”

“Works for me,” Clint snarks back, and holy shit, Clint and Loki are… teasing each other. Sort of. 

Then of course Thor comes over, and takes a seat kitty-corner to Loki, and tries to lean over to see what Loki’s doing, and talks at him, and ignores the acerbic barbs coming his way about how Loki’s busy and Thor’s bothering him. 

And if Loki actually minded, he could obviously leave. And the way his fingers clatter across the keys in a steady cadence, he’s perfectly capable of working and being an asshole at the same time– not that Tony’s surprised. Somehow Tony’s ended up on the same couch with Loki, sprawled into his own corner, working on a StarkPad while he listens to Loki bitch and Thor being disgustingly sunny and Wilson and Clint murder each other in some ego shooter or other. Steve and Nat are huddled together at the corner of the couch farthest from everyone else, talking in low voices over their own Pads– something about team evaluations or some such shit. 

Yeah, it’s totally weird. 

It also has no business making Tony feel calmer than he has in days. It’s supposed to get on his nerves, make him flee to the workshop. Instead he smirks, cheers Wilson on, mocks Clint, catches Loki’s eyes. They exchange an amused look, and Loki emails him a few data packages for the translation of the alien USB key– apparently that’s what he’s doing while he’s goading Thor: translating.

***

At some point in the afternoon, Tony drags himself downstairs to the SI offices to meet Pepper and reassure her in person he’s alive, instead of just by text. He knocks lightly on her door frame, steps into the room– corner office, of course, and it’s bright with afternoon sunlight. The desk she rises from is littered with print-outs and manila folders and two StarkPads, and Tony feels a twinge of guilt – as usual, he’s made more work for her with this latest little fiasco.

***

“Hey, Pep.”

Pepper feels a wash of relief at the sight of Tony walking into her office, at the sound of his voice, quick and clipped and familiar. His smile is a little crooked, and he’s still pale, but his eyes have lost that flat, bruised look. 

“Oh, Tony!” She can’t help it, she rushes over, rests a hand on his arm. “How are you?”

His smile gains a little more substance, and he rests a hand at her waist, leans just a little towards her. “Been better,” he admits. 

“Oh!” she says again, and pulls his head down to her shoulder. And he lets her, leans into her, wraps his arms around her back, relaxes against her. She strokes his hair, and kisses his temple, and holds him. He’s not a large man, but he’s solid, his shoulders broad, his arms strong, and it’s so good to touch him again, to reassure herself that he’s still here, still alive, that he’s come back once more and she hasn’t lost him yet.

***

Pepper smells nice, her perfume floral and expensive and soothing, the fabric of her business suit smooth and warm. She’s so slender in his arms, but not everything’s about physical strength– the shoulder he’s leaning on is steel, he knows that very well. Figuratively, of course.

For a moment, he just allows himself to feel thankful that he has Pepper in his life, that she’s still here even after all the crap he’s pulled and all the crazy that comes with being an Avenger. She’s still here, and he loves her for it. 

Finally, he lets go again. 

“So… I suppose this is where I say sorry about the mess.”

“Tony!” Her voice is soft, and she looks at him with gentle eyes, squeezes his arm. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

He shrugs, because– he could’ve been more careful. Could’ve paid better attention. Could’ve fought it off– it wasn’t like he didn’t know he wasn’t thinking straight. 

“It wasn’t,” Pepper insists. 

“Yeah, maybe,” he says, and he knows and she knows that he doesn’t believe her, just as they both know she’s not going to convince him otherwise. 

She sighs, and hugs him again, runs her fingers through the hair at the back of his head. (Loki did that, too– what’s up with this petting his hair thing?)

“So,” he eventually asks. “What’s the damage?”

Her eyes are far too compassionate. “38 in the hospital,” she says quietly, “5 still in critical condition. About two city blocks worth of property damage, and Tiffany’s is a bit upset about their diamond.”

He takes a deep breath. That… could’ve been much worse. Still, there’s 38 people in a lot of pain because of him, and five of them who might still die. 

“We’re paying all the hospital bills.”

Pepper gives him a slight smile. “Already arranged.”

“Good. And make sure they get the best care– fly in specialists, whatever, if they need it. Rehab, everything. And we’re fixing those buildings, good as new. No, make them better than new– energy-efficient, all that.”

Now Pepper grimaces. “You’re talking a lot of money here, Tony.”

“I don’t care,” he snaps. “Take it out of my personal accounts. And make sure those people have somewhere to stay, and the businesses– clear out a floor or two of the Tower, if you have to. Lost wages, inventory, whatever, I want it all covered.”

“You should talk to the legal team first,” Pepper says. “Thor gave a statement, made it clear that you weren’t in control of your actions, but we need to make sure anything you do isn’t going to look like an admission of guilt if this ever ends up in court.”

Tony grinds his teeth. “Fine. I’ll talk to the lawyers. Set it up, anyway. Do I need to do a press thing?”

Pepper sighs again, makes an undecided back-and-forth gesture with one hand. “We’re not sure yet whether that’d make it better or worse. We’ll have to see how things develop.”

Great. He runs a hand over through his hair, over his face. Public opinion, he knows all too well, is both fickle and powerful. But Pepper has always been far, _far_ better than him at judging it. Oh, he can rile a crowd with the best of them, he can throw a party and rock a stage. But contrite sincerity? He doesn’t do that very well. 

If he doesn’t have to face that, he’s not going to argue. 

So they set up the thing with the lawyers, and he heads on down another few floors. Pepper offers to go with him, but he can handle his own legal department, and he’s a big boy and doesn’t need anyone to hold his hand. 

Pepper rolls her eyes at him, and kisses him on the cheek, and lets him go.

***

The lawyers are ambivalent about his insistence on paying for damages, but the world’s gotten weird and the law hasn’t caught up yet and no one knows how to deal with magic. Also Thor’s got the whole visiting royalty from an advanced alien civilisation thing going for him, and he’s vouched for Tony. Also also, Thor can level a mid-size city, and most politicians, including those in Washington and the mayor of New York, are well aware of that. So there’s not going to be any charges, not at this point. Tony promises in writing to do his best to recover the Tiffany diamond, too. Not that he has any idea how to even start on that front, or that he needs any _more_ pretty rocks to find on his plate, but, well. Sure, he’ll try.

***

When he gets back upstairs, he finds that Darcy’s stolen his space on the couch, and is pestering Loki with questions about magic. He complains, doesn’t really mean it– but she smirks at him, and scoots closer to Loki so that Tony can reclaim his corner.

Tony blinks, because she’s nearly close enough to touch Loki, and apart from himself and Thor, no one does that. Not that Loki seems to mind– he’s the least acerbic Tony’s ever seen him. Jane’s there, too, next to Thor, and everyone’s kind of turned that way and leaning over to listen to Loki. 

“The universe,” he explains, “is full of energy. Life and death, space and time, thought and emotion– everything is energy. A mind schooled in the magical arts can manipulate these energies to change the reality we inhabit.”

“So can anyone learn to do magic?” Darcy asks eagerly. 

Loki tilts his head thoughtfully. “In theory? Yes. In practise… no.” 

“What do you mean?” Darcy asks. 

“Learning magic is a delicate and difficult procedure, and most people simply don’t have the interest and the patience to do so. Take, for example, my brother.” He waves a hand at Thor. “Son of Odin and Frigga, two of the most powerful and knowledgeable magic users in the Nine Realms. Can my brother wield magic?”

Tony blinks at Thor, and so does everyone else. Thor raises his eyebrows, smirks a little. 

“Why, yes, of course he can,” Loki continues. “He is, in fact, rather talented, has an instinctual understanding of the fabric of the universe that not many share. 

Will he ever be a sorcerer? No. He has no interest in honing his craft beyond what he needs to hit things with Mjolnir, and the odd convenient creation of a pocket dimension to carry trinkets around in.”

Thor just shrugs, grins a little sheepishly. “I leave the study of dusty old books to you, brother.”

“Yes,” Loki retorts dryly. “Why bother, when you can just guess your way through calling up a lightning storm to scorch your enemies.”

“Exactly,” Thor agrees. 

Loki rolls his eyes, then gestures at Tony. “Or take Stark here. Certainly, he’s quite willing to learn, and like Thor, his instincts for the workings of things are good. However, he’s burdened by a lifetime of sceptical thinking and a dislike for the entire concept of magic. Magic is too complex to be mastered by the rational mind. Spell words and symbols help to shape and direct it, but you won’t succeed if you’re not willing to commit your _entire_ being to it. That wordless part of us that thinks in images and patterns, that jumps ahead and behind, the part that understands without judging, without ordering– you cannot hope to cast a spell if you haven’t mastered that state of mind.”

“So,” Darcy says, bounces a little where she sits. Tony finds himself smirking– god, she’s so _young_. “Can _I_ learn it?”

Loki regards her for a moment, his eyes distant like he’s looking at something the rest of them can’t see. Then his lips tick up in a little smile that’s astonishingly free of any mockery. 

“If you wish it, you might be suited to it, yes.”

Darcy’s eyes go big. “Seriously? Like, _seriously_?”

That smile of Loki’s curls a little higher. “Quite.”

“Any chance you can, y’know, teach me?”

Tony jolts a little, automatically looks towards Steve to exchange a look– should he intervene? It’s _Loki_ , and it’s Darcy, and, yeah he should totally intervene– and Loki nods placidly. 

“Certainly.”

Darcy whoops, and Loki’s still smiling, kind of _tolerantly_ , and everyone else looks as weirded out as Tony feels. Well, everyone except Thor, of course. Thor has his own sappily tolerant thing going on. 

So that’s how Loki ends up giving Darcy magic lessons on the living room couch. It’s a lot of meditation kind of shit and metaphysical mumbo-jumbo, as far as Tony’s concerned, but Darcy’s awesome enough to tell him where to shove it when he makes a crack about it, so Tony goes back to his own work with a grin. 

The long, golden afternoon spills over into take-out and movie night, which, okay, they haven’t done in a while. _Back To The Future_ rolls over the screen, old and familiar, and it’s good– Tony needs it, the team needs it, just this downtime to relax together, share space and time. Tony can feel the exasperated warmth in his own chest that he’ll never admit to, because _damn_ , he likes these people, _his team_. And somehow, it isn’t even that weird anymore that Loki’s part of this experience.

***

Yeah, it’s a really good thing that they have that peaceful evening, because weirdness is never far in the life of the Avengers. When JARVIS clears his non-existent throat shortly before noon the next day, Tony’s just putting the final touches on the translation algorithm for the alien data. Loki pissed off to wherever after the movie the previous night, but Tony managed a good six hours of sleep without alcohol or sex, _and_ he did a work-out and a meditation routine for Extremis maintenance in the morning before breakfast, so all in all, things are on the up and up.

Well, until JARVIS clears his non-existent throat. 

“Um,” Tony says, stares at the figure in the Tower’s lobby, scratches his beard. She’s short and delicate, long dark hair spilling out from under a baseball cap, and she’s looking directly up at the camera from where she’s sitting in one of the plush chairs. Her facial rec profile hovers next to the video feed on Tony’s holo screen. “Wanda Maximoff,” it reads, and yeah– the girl that walked through the front door of his tower, in broad daylight, to take a seat and stare up into a camera certainly does look like Wanda Maximoff.

“Code Yellow, Jarv,” Tony says. “Alert the others.” 

A moment later, he has windows popping up. Wilson looks startled, and Nat and Clint are flushed in a way Tony’s _not_ going to comment on– though he really wants to. (Seriously, do they always fuck at eleven in the morning?) Steve’s hair is sticking up on one side, and the way he blinks suggests JARVIS just woke him from a nap. Thor looks all attentive, and Bruce a little grumpy– he’s holding a beaker in one hand and wearing a lab coat, and Tony can’t help but smirk. 

“Way to rock the mad-scientist vibe there, Bruce my friend. But, anyway– we have, what’s the word? Oh, yeah, a _situation_.”

Steve scrubs a hand over his face, while Nat frowns direly. 

“Tony, if you set the lab on fire...”

Tony waves her away. “Please. Dum-E can handle lab fires, it’s what I built him for. No, we have a visitor.” He swipes the security feed over. 

“’Tis the witch!” Thor exclaims, because among his other many attributes, Thor’s also Captain Obvious. 

“Yep. Being all well-behaved and non-witchy, not to mention the whole ‘front door in broad daylight’ thing, so I assume she wants to talk to us. So, ideas? Suggestions?”

Steve sighs, for all the world like he’s doesn’t want to deal with a potential threat to the life and well-being of innocent civilians– almost like he’s _cranky_. 

“Can we talk about this in person?” he huffs. “See you in the living room in five.”

Tony throws him a mocking salute. “Your wish is my command, oh Captain my Captain.”

Steve gives him an exasperated look. “Here I thought I’d be glad you’re feeling better, but now I wonder.”

“Oh, burn,” Clint mutters, and Tony clasps a hand to his heart. 

“Steve! You’re hurting my feelings, here!”

“I’m sure,” Steve retorts. “See you upstairs.” And with that, he swipes his com window closed. Tony finds himself grinning, just a little– yeah, he likes these people.

***

When they gather upstairs a few minutes later, Steve’s hair is neat and Bruce has lost the lab coat. Also, Nat and Clint have lost their ‘just got laid’ look.

“Okay, so what do we do with witchy girl?” Tony asks. “Only, she really doesn’t like me.”

Thor sets a familiar little cube on the table and switches it on. “I believe it would be wise to call my brother.”

Tony sighs, ‘cause, yeah, he’s kinda been thinking the same. Steve, meanwhile looks a little confused, but Nat nods in agreement, and even Clint waves a hand in a “go ahead” kind of way. 

“Yeah, okay, I can call him,” Tony agrees, pulls out his phone. 

“Wait, wait,” Steve says, and they all look at him. “You mean like– you’re going to call Loki on the _phone_?”

Tony can’t help it, he smirks at Steve’s non-plussed expression. “Yep.”

“What, is it like a spell or something?”

“No,” Tony tells him, “Loki has a phone.” He flicks Loki’s number, brings the phone to his ear. 

“And you have his number?” he hears Steve ask, but the call connects on the second ring, and Loki’s voice says “Yes?” in his ear.

It’s Tony’s turn to be a little surprised– he’s expected it to go to voice mail.

“Hey, it’s me. We kinda have a thing here we could use your input on, can you drop in if you’re free?”

He’s barely finished the sentence when there’s the soft chime and Loki stands in front of the windows. He pulls the phone from his ear, disconnects the call, and vanishes it into thin air with a twist of his wrist. But Tony’s rather too busy staring at him, because he’s… He’s wearing jeans. And a t-shirt. Granted, they’re black jeans and a green t-shirt, but still. There’s no coat to hide the long lines of his legs, or the breadth of his shoulders, and also it’s Loki. In jeans and a t-shirt. Tony’s not sure his brain is meant to handle that combination of absurdity and hotness. 

At least he’s not the only one staring at Loki. Loki, of course, arches his eyebrows in that fake-innocent way of his, and asks: “Yes?”

“You’re wearing normal clothes,” Tony feels forced to point out, and gets that mocking regard directed his way for his trouble. 

“Yes?” Loki asks again, and Tony rolls his eyes. 

“You know what I mean! What happened to the whole video-game villain look?”

“I was at home,” Loki answers, tone implying that he’s being perfectly reasonable and Tony is an idiot. “If I need my armour, I need only summon it.”

“Wait, at home? Like in Asgard?”

“No.” Now Loki does roll his eyes. “At home like in my apartment. In Manhattan.”

Before Tony can ask any more questions about this rather important matter of Loki’s living arrangements, Steve clears his throat. 

“Thanks for coming.”

Loki inclines his head. “Certainly.” He pads over to his chair on socked feet, sinks into it and sprawls back comfortably, folds his hands over his stomach. “What’s this matter you spoke of?”

“The witch is here,” Thor announces. 

Loki gives his brother a confused look. “Witch?”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, “you know, magical portal girl? Tried to kill me? Twice?”

“Ah,” Loki makes. 

“She walked in downstairs about a quarter hour ago.”

Loki cocks his head a little. “She’s not attacking?”

Tony calls up the video feed, waves the holo screen in Loki’s direction. “Nope.”

Loki studies the screen, then the girl’s profile next to it. “Ah, you’ve identified her. Well, it looks to me like her intentions aren’t hostile at the moment.”

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” Tony answers. “Only– who’s to say she’s not gonna change her mind if we let her up here? Or it could be some kind of trap, of course.”

Loki gives a lazy shrug. “We’re unlikely to find out if we don’t allow her the chance to speak, are we?”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to try a (tiny, 1000 word) piece of my original work, I wrote a little thing for Halloween. You can find it here: [The Picture](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8484352)


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